Richelle E. Goodrich

Eena turned aside, breathing shallowly as her mind raced with questions. She was glad he couldn__ read the confusion that swooped her up like a passing tornado. Was it even possible to genuinely love more than one man? Yes. Oh, yes.She knew it because her heart irrefutably felt it. She loved Derian; it was true. She wasn__ trying to convince herself of it, no matter what Edgar said. She yearned deeply for her captain. But she loved Ian too. She always had. Only she purposefully, appropriately, had set those feelings aside when he made the decision to pursue Angelle. But Angelle was gone now. No, Eena thought to herself, this changes nothing. She scolded her heart for longing for something spent and ended, for even considering the possibility. Her with Ian? No, no, it had to remain in the past.

There are things that make no sense,that seem unreal,that can__ be grasped or understoodor explained,that maybe don__ even exist_And still, somehow, those wonderful things touch and change our lives.Isn__ it strange?

Such a nasty bruise,_ he says, staring straight into my eyes. I am stunned he can see it. Delicate to the touch and tender on every side, the bruise is deeper than days. My hand automatically moves to my chest.Science taught me with valid assurance that my heart was fixed in my rib cage, but life has since shown me otherwise. My heart in fact dangles from a tangle of strings. The ends are grasped tight by numerous people who yank and release, having caused many painful bruises over time. I cry because they are invisible to most.__uch a nasty bruise,_ he repeats, tugging on my poor heart. His kind eyes fall away from mine as I feel a squeeze on my arm. He twists it enough to show me a small, round patch of purple surrounded by a sickly yellowish corona. __h. My elbow._ I let the air exhale from my lungs. Another bruise forms where my heart has hit the floor. It is jerked up again. __an I do anything for you?_ I see in his eyes the mirror image of a finger__is finger__rapped in one of the dangling strings. He tugs and I feel it.__o,_ I reply to his question. But it is a lie. There is something he could do, along with all who grasp a portion of the web entangling my heart. I wish they would mercifully let go.

The ears and the heart are connected, it__ true,for when ears open wide, the heart opens up too.

To love is to accept a soul entirely, not wishing that the person was otherwise, nor hoping for change, nor clinging to some ideal past. To love is to cherish the individual standing before you presently__harms, quirks, and all. To love is to give someone a piece of your heart that you will never, ever reclaim.

Though I may accumulate a great deal of riches in this world, it is only my wealth of knowledge, talents, and emotional bonds that I keep when I leave.

Music is my enchanter, the seducer of my emotions, the fire and ice that moves me.

My soul, I__e found, has puppet strings to make me droop or give me wings.And music is the puppeteerthat turns my ear to hear.

As sunlight is for flowers, and sustenance for the mortal shell, music is for the human soul.

Life is music to which you choreograph your own dance.

People search the world over looking for someone to love them, when they should be searching for someone to love.

My ears interpreted a mix of nearby voices as calm, friendly, ordinary chatter. With that as background noise, I enjoyed the silent attention of my mate. The way his hand brushed softly over every inch of my bare skin tempted my eyelids to close and my mind to wander, but I kept focused, not wanting to miss a moment of admiring this beautiful man and his seductive, wild look. I felt a flood of emotion set in, born from absolute, interminable love for him. I wished for the voices to cease, for time to halt, for the moment we were living to replay over and over and over again perpetually. The world could have its gain and glory, its vengeance and victories. All I wanted was the enduring love and attention of this man who most assuredly was my soulmate.

Are you ready to go home, Catherine?_ he asked. __t__ warm inside the house. I kept a fire going for you.__ continued looking at him, unsure how to respond. __hanks,_ I managed to say and then glanced in the direction of his house__ur house. __ell, you are my wife. And I know you don__ like the cold.____ his wife, I thought to myself. He had said the words as if that simple fact made it necessary to be both thoughtful and kind. As if having gained a wife or husband meant having also gained her or his concerns, and hence the need to consider the person__ needs, wants, and preferences as strongly as one__ own. It struck me as a perfect description of what marriage ought to be. An agreeable notion that had not entered into my petty way of viewing matrimony. I would have assumed it to be above Thaddeus_ egotistical mindset as well.__atherine?_ he said again, watching me regard him with a quizzical expression. __re you ready to go home?__ nodded, which made him smile.

Pain defines moments in the lives of all human beings. The trial is not the endurance of pain but the choices we make regarding how to endure.

Even the smallest tender mercy can bring peace when recognized and appreciated.

I felt sad.I felt cold.I felt hurt.I felt forsaken and lonely.I felt doubtful and hesitant.I felt scared and deeply worried. I felt different, unknown, and unwelcome.I felt empty and woefully neglected.I felt weak and intimidated.I felt withdrawn and shy.I felt utterly hopeless.Then you held my hand, and I felt better.

Every single voice__o matter how soft the peep__ongs to be heard.

Numerous times throughout history, a single person has made a tremendous impact on the world. I don__ know why anyone would think that can__ still happen.