If I come back to you now, can we be what we were before life’s uncertain rhythms tore us so far apart? If I return today, will your arms gather me in, or will I be wrenched away, snatched by riptide I have no power to resist? If I find my way to you, one man standing in a crowd, will I even know who you are?

I can see why she feels left behind. Maybe even discarded. Is that why she refuses to accept my love and return it? Afraid that love doesn't last? Doesn't really exist? Afraid if her own father can withdraw his love (or at least the manifestation of his love), that maybe she somehow isn't worthy of the emotion?

Certain of misfire, my heart threatens to stop.

Living means taking chances. Risks. Playing safe all the time is being dead inside, even if you happen to still be breathing.

It was body rush After body rush, intensity building. Touch me there.

I want to know living love. And I don't want to wait for it.

She's incredible, not that she's perfect. But you once said imperfections create character.