An ait a bhfuil do chroi is ann a thabharfas do chosa thu.(your feet will bring you to where your heart is.)

There’s no point in fighting the tide. It ebbs. It flows. You ride it.

Dude. Post-apocalyptic world. Who does job applications anymore?” “I do.” I squint at it, then him. “What are you paying me?” I angle. “Dude. Post-apocalyptic world. Who does money anymore.” I snicker. First sign of any sense of humor he’s shown. Then I remember where I am and why. I wad it up and throw it at him. It bounces off his chest.

Barrons’ lips twitched. I’d almost made him smile. Barrons smiles about as often as the sun comes out in Dublin, and it has the same effect on me; makes me feel warm and stupid.

He'd surely been spawned by some cataclysmic event of nature, not born.

He lives. I breathe. I want. Him. Always. Fire to my ice. Ice to my fever. -Mac

Do you think a woman can give a man everything while still withholding her heart? We are not made that way! - Fiona