young-adult

The thing that hurts the most, that makes it hard to sleep at night, is not being with you" -Jess Tyler

The only thing that restricted us from becoming one was our MINDS!

Ember was watching me, green bright eyes in the shadows of the room. She crouched against the wall with her wings pressed close and her tail curled around herself. Even with her fangs slightly bared and her sides heaving with fear, she was still beautiful, elegant, fiery, everything my dragon wanted.

Celerity: noun, mass noun; an ability possessed by certain Que Cum Virtute Judicium (Virts) increasing the mobility or swiftness of movement

Because even this --being so close to her --was no longer the same. That light he'd felt when he first saw her --he understood now that it was only a lightbulb. It was quick and easy, full of electricity, but there was something artificial about it. What he wanted was fire: heat and spark and flame.

You're such a dork.But I'm your dork.

The question stayed with me every day, through every class, through every Op. I felt its teeth tighten around the back of my neck each time I was dismissed without a second look; it had locked it__ jaws and wouldn__ let me or my conscience go.

They lived and they laughed and they saw it was good.

His hands still on his shoulders. __i,_ he says. __orry._ __or what?_ __or the fact that you are such a big flirt._ He laughs. __ou__e the one in my lap. I was just sitting here minding my own business._ __ust the plane, then?_ __f course._ I try to stand up, but he pulls me back down again. __an, the plane is really bumpy today,_ he says.

It didn't matter what anyone else saw in me. For the first time, I felt like I was seeing myself.

I can__ help to feel like they__e staring at me, too. Judging me. Deeming me not good enough. Not pretty enough. Not cool enough.And to be honest, sometimes I wonder if they__e right.

Actually, judging by Pinterest alone, I'm pretty sure a lot of people would look forward to hanging out in such a beautiful library. Just not people Peter knows. He thinks I'm so quirky. I'm not planning on being the one to break the news to him that I'm actually not that quirky, that in fact lots of people like to stay home and bake cookies and scrapbook and hang out in libraries. Most of them are probably in their fifties, but still. I like the way he looks at me, like I am a wood nymph that he happened upon one day and just had to take home to keep.

Darkness engulfed me...There was no ground below me, no sky above. Only the black, and the cold.

I kiss him to get him to stop talking. If he keeps talking I will love him, and I don't want to love him. I really don't. As strategies go, it's not my finest. Kissing is just another way of talking except without the words.

Parents aren't supposed to cry. Or get scared. Or lie. Right? I thought I knew all the rules. But there are no rules.

I had a whole evening planned. I was hoping to sweep you off your feet. Like those guys in your stupid books.

People in pain can be very self-destructive. And sometimes they pull in the people who are close to them, often without realizing.

He was telling war stories. The funny, innocuous ones that made everyone forget that war could leave you without fingers, or legs, or a soul.