No hot guys should be allowed to have an English accent and drive a motorcycle. Not to mention wear the leather jacket or sport the cool shades. Hot guys should be forced into footie pajamas.

It's time for second chances. It's time to remake the world.

What kind of world is this? And what do you do about it? What do you do when the worst thing that can happen actually happens?

I wish my shadow would get up and walk beside me.

At least, the sun had the decency to stay the hell away from us.

I could step out of this sad life like it's an old sorry dress.

He murmers into my hair, "Forget what I said earlier, let's stick with this, I might not survive anything more." I laugh. Then he jumps up, finds my wrists, and pins them over my head. "Yeah, right. Totally joking, I want to do everything with you, whenever you're ready, I'm the one, promise?" He's above me, batting and grinning like a total hooplehead. "I promise," I say. "Good. Glad that's decided." He raises an eyebrow. "I'm going to deflower you, John Lennon.