Do you have any idea how much I love you?” he asked. ”Enough to accept my apologies?” I suggested in a small voice. ”Heck no,” he said, and pushed off from the wall, stalking forward. When he reached me, he put his hands up and touched the sides of my neck with the tips of his fingers – as if I were something fragile. ”No apologies from you,” he told me, his voice soft enough to melt my knees and most of my other parts.

His voice was soft and sweet as molasses; but my mother once told me that you had to trust that the first thing out of a person's mouth was truth. After they have a chance to think about it, they'll change what they say to be more socially acceptable, something they think you'll be happier with, something that will get the results they want.

Let's save tomorrow's troubles for tomorrow.

She open her eyes and met his. The impact was so strong he was amazed that his figures continued playing with out pause.

He can stop me in my tracks, but he can't make me do someting I don't want to

Paranoia: the gift of the survivor and the burden of the overtired, stressed, and terrified.

Take a note: it usually works better if you wait until I do something stupid before getting mad at me.