He made a small sigh, as he swallowed the first blood, then his mouth closed over my earlobe, mouth working at the wound, tongue coaxing blood from the wound. He pressed his body the length of mine, one hand cupping my turned head, the other playing down the line of my body. Maybe it was just blood, but I never stroked my steak while eating it.

Walking your path doesn't mean you don't hurt, it means the pain is worth the progress. Sometimes you have to break something down in order to remake it, and that includes yourself, or it did for me. There were moments when I wept for an easier road, but in the end I would not trade my path for anyone else's. It is mine and the traveling of it has made me who I am, and continues to shape and remold me into the best, happiest, most productive, most playful me, I've ever been.

My writing style is very sensual, as in sensory detail

I know that look, Blake. You are a drowning woman, and the only way out is down the aisle.

Death cures all ills. Well, most of them.

If you're dressed for my funeral, it's too casual. If it's just street clothes, then you must be scaring the tourists.

I talk to myself everyone once in a while. Give myself very good advice. Sometimes I even take it.