What Kind Of An Idiotic Question Is

I Was Like A Lost Moon―my Planet Destroyed In Some Cataclysmic, Disaster-movie Scenario Of Desolation―that Continued, Nevertheless, To Circle In A Tight Little Orbit Around The Empty Space Left Behind, Ignoring The Laws Of Gravity.

You Live A Thousand Lives When You Read A Thousand Books.

Your Hold On Me Is Permanent And Unbreakable. Never Doubt That

He's Got To Let Go Of You Sometime.

The Laughter In His Deep-set Black Eyes, The Feverish Heat Of His Big Hand Around Mine, The Flash Of His White Teeth Against His Dark Skin, His Face Stretching Into The Wide Smile That Had Always Been Like A Key To A Secret Door Where Only Kindred Spirits Could Enter.