contemporary

Mending a broken heart isn't easy. It's messy and complicated, but when it's finished, it's stronger than ever.

Right, I can't watch this shit." Kacey grunted as he got up. "It's one thing getting a hard-on over you, baby girl. The fact that Tyler happens to be in the picture_I'm freaking slightly.

I want you both." I said quietly, not caring that my cheeks had grown warmer. "I have for a while.""If we try this_" Tyler took a deep breath. "And it doesn't feel right_""We'll stop." Kacey promised as he slid his hand beneath my halter neck and began caressing my skin. "You say it baby, and we'll stop and forget all about it."My stomach flipped at the feel of his fingers circling my navel. "And if I don't want to stop?"An unreadable look crossed Tyler__ face and my heart skipped as Kacey moved behind me. The warmth of his body seeped into my back, while his fingers painted trails of heat across my abdomen and along my ribs."Then what happens in Silver Creek, stays in Silver Creek. Unless you decide otherwise." Kacey pressed his lips to my ear. A shiver ran down my neck and spine. "Does that sound fair?

Kiss after wet kiss, he devoured her, almost a full year of pent-up desireunleashing in one terrible flood.

A weathered cork sat inside the box lined with green velvet. It had turned a darker brown and was a little shriveled, but the name Moet & Chandon was still clearly visible.Vivien reached inside and pulled out her mother's cork. The one she'd searched for in the bed of red impatiens. To anyone else, it was nothing. Just a weathered piece of nothing. To Vivien, it was everything.

You're doing it wrong.""Son, I've got a gun to your chest and you're telling me that I'm doing it wrong?""Yes""How?""Closer isn't better." He disarmed her with a swift motion, then offered the weapon back to her. "Further away you are, the less unpredictable I can be."Della's eyes had opened wide with surprise, but she recovered fast. Took the shotgun back and said, "Okay. Knock again so we can start over.

I kind of thought actually that Trevor was gone completely mental when he called up here a few weeks ago. Like, why would he not text or email or Facebook? What's with all the reality, I thought. Does he not know he's a million times cooler in virtual form?

She looked up and their eyes locked. __ant to be my birthday present?_ she asked in a breathy whisper.Chase__ mother didn__ raise any fools. He released her hips and trailed his hand down her arm until their fingers entwined.__et__ get out of here.__e tugged her from the dance floor, trying not to rush like he was running from a fire. But, damn. There was a fire in his britches.

Most of my dates had consisted of some guy trying to sweet-talk me while I silently prayed for an asteroid to crash into whatever diner we were at.

I've read dozens of interviews and accounts that basically come down to How Poets Do It and the truth is they're all do-lally and they're all different. There's Gerard Manly Hopkins in his black Jesuit clothes lying face down on the ground to look at an individual bluebell, Robert Frost who never used a desk, was once caught short by a poem coming and wrote it on the sole of his shoe, T.S. Eliot in his I'm-not-a-Poet suit with his solid sensible available-for-poetry three hours a day, Ted Hughes folded into his tiny cubicle at the top of the stairs where there is no window, no sight or smell of earth or animal but the rain clatter on the roof bows him to the page, Pablo Neruda who grandly declared poetry should only ever be handwritten, and then added his own little bit of bonkers by saying: in green ink. Poets are their own nation. Most of them know.

Love is a risk. It always is. None of us is guaranteed a long life. But love takes courage.

A day without someone to hold you or a day without someone to share, is a day easily forgotten._ - Vera Richardson in Mr Alhourani's Dead Man's Spots

And in that moment, he knew one thing. If it was possible to slay his dragons, he__ do it. For her.

For God's sake, don't let her watch Cinderella. What kind of example is that? A mindless twit who can't even remember where she left her damn shoe, so she has to wait for some douchebag in tights to bring it to her? Give me a frigging break!

Follow your heart a little more and listen to your head a little less.

Snakes don't have fuckin' legs, so how was I supposed to think there'd be one hidin' in the face of a damn rock that's ten feet below the summit?

In the mind of the kid in skinny jeans leading the worship band, there isn__ a large enough gap between holiness and sinfulness, truth and error, demons and angels, or heaven and hell.

Eat your heart out. Oh, wait. You can__. It__ not organic.