bruises

Someday those bruises inside you will heal. You can't know when someday will come, or what life will look like when it finally does. ... But in a way it doesn't even matter because someday isn't what we have. What we have is right now, this moment, when things aren't okay yet, but in a way they are already, because in the end they will be, and as long as that's true, it's enough.

What the hell was that?_ he asked no-one in particular. __id they ram us?___h _ negative, sir._ Marnetti offered, reading an instrumental assessment from his display, __t seems we were hit by some kind of pulse wave generated by their jump.___heir jump? _ You mean by arriving they nearly killed us?__arnetti nodded, continuing, __ange 0.5 kilometers, Captain. Holding steady. No recognized weapons activity.___amage report._ He ordered, feeling his way back into his seat, eyes glued to the viewscreen.__hield 2 down, 1 is buckling._ Pluddeman choked.__ower stable, all systems holding steady,_ Marnetti added, now rubbing some bruises.__ny communications?___othing, sir. Static on all frequencies.___hat are they doing?___othing, sir. Waiting maybe.___aiting, my ass!_ Dayne barked. __hey must be sizing us up!

you are ever the only onei want to giveall the peachesin my heart tothe only one by whomi want them bruised.

it was the kind of moonthat I would want to send back to my ancestorsand gift to my descendantsso they know that I too,have been bruised...by beauty.

and I wanted this girl who was like no girl I had ever known, wanted her not in spite of her moods and her secret bruises and her sad attempts at artifice but because of them, because of them all.

She met a boyand called him Stargazerbecause instead of poemshe recited the names of constellations.He said the freckles on his armswere roadmaps to the sky,and the bruises that he carriedwere supernovas in disguise."Stargazer

Don__ worry if you fall, sweet girl. Youth is made for bruises.

Not all forms of abuse leave bruises.

I used to pray you know, pray to God that He would somehow stop it. All the nights of listening to my mother scream and things breaking. Of holding my brother and sister and listening to them cry and begging me to stop it.'My voice is slow and steady like a freight train at night.'I was too young, and we were always told that they'd put us in foster homes where people would rape us if we ever said anything. So we explained away the bruises and my mom wore big sunglasses whenever she left the house. And we invented car accidents if the bruising was too bad to cover with make-up.

Even when battered and broken, he was beautiful. Yes, a guy could be beautiful. Especially if that guy was Deandre.