He had let me know time after time that he was a thinking man, a man of intellect and wit. Yet one unintended hungry look into my eyes and he betrayed each of his words...

He offered her power, money, status…a giant prison, all in exchange for only…her soul.

I remember when your name was just another name that rolled without thought off my tongue.Now, I can’t look at your name without an abundance of sentiment attached to each lettter.Your name, which I played...

…I feel like a traitor, a phony, a fake. But I am a hypocrite with the best intentions, and I need kissing desperately.

I won’t let you have it. I won’t give you this moment. I won’t let you fill up this valuable organ…I own it. I won’t do it. I can’t think, I won’t think about it.

Now he was nothing to her, just a lesson in time, a wicked boy-man, incapable of wealth or prestige.

I want your most vital organ. I want it to be mine.

…..she needed him to know she did not care. She was spirited, tenacious, and full of contempt for him.

And I don’t even like you, but the pain of life without you is biting.

She had missed him so long now, that the feeling had become a part of her. As each day passed, the missing distanced itself from her heart. One day she woke, and realized the missing...

I’m mistaken….for thinking you were someone with a heart worth breaking.

Defend myself? I cannot defend the verbal repressions of a boy. A curmudgeonly, cantankerous, ill-tempered, counterfeit boy.

She stabbed him with her wicked pretty knife, disrupted his simple life.She’s a player, a heartbreaker,and now she breaks alone.

Growth in love comes from a place of absence, where the imagination is left to it’s own devices and creates you to be much more then reality would ever allow.

Bittersweet? No, just bitter, the taste of your tongue.Words you can’t have back, so they linger.

Tricks ripped and you tripped, tricked yourself by falling slowly.I’m the winner in this game,unable to stoop to your level of shame.Unwilling to reply to your words of ache.

I wait, you play. You speak, I cave. I promise, you break. You game me, daily, you play me.

She wanted to write to him. Tell him she was glad he was back, that he was alive, that he was home and safe. But words to him no longer fit right in her her...

Maybe she had it wrong all this time and her empty heart could never be filled by his ingenious broken spirit. Maybe this yearning had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with...

Color me….BRILLIANT.

…so many ticks steadily around the clock. My heart beats ferociously, as if to say it will not digest this leaving. But you are gone. I could never look into your tormenting eyes again. You...

I did not love you at all”.I say this to you now: I love you, with no beginning, no end. I love you as you have become an extra necessary organ in my body. I...

You cannot mistake thisYou cannot reinvent this moment You cannot call this loveIt is so much more

You don’t deserve my image in your head. You don’t deserve my memories in your chest.

If I wasn’t so phenomenal. I would go back to you.

….finally I see that it’s never been me, just a blanket that keeps you warm. Easily tossed alongwhen something flashier or someone prettier comes along. Your heart I held so carefully, I see, this was...

I wore your promise on my finger for one yearI’ll wear your name on my heart til I dieBecause you were my boy, you were my only boy forever.

Writers do not have the privilege of sleep. There is always a story coming alive in their heads, constantly composing. Whether they choose it or not.

You’re a mess, I confess, I despise you in the best kind of way.

I near felt bad he choose to be so evil to me. I am a forgiving woman, but my pen… oh my wicked wicked hormonal she-pen.

You break me the hardest, make me the strongest, and keep me the softest.

When you miss someone….it’s weird…your body doesn’t function normally..as it should. Because I miss you, and my heart…it’s not steady…my soul it sings numb. Fingers are cold…like you…your soul.

It’s all mine, it’s all sacred.

He’s an indulgent sort of man……With a quick lip and a fierce tongue, the sort of tongue that draws you in with charm and words of praise, awkward silences and desperate worships.

Time to get a go on this drop-dead-gorgeous morning.

He cared less, so they cared more. He said it was beautiful. I knew he was broken.This was his game.

Her heart had grown so familiar to the pain of life without him, that to respond now seemed too large a pleasure she could not endure. If pain was love, then she loved fiercely. Yet...

I want your hand without the skin. Bone to bone without the molds. Mouth to mouth, without the porn.

It’s a finger snapping kind of day.

The world I held so closely, she played me like a game,I released and left her laughing to stand on my own two feet.

He brought out the worst in me, and was the best thing that ever happened to me.

But every spiteful word she ever wrote him was effortless love clenched in her fists. Her heart screaming for stability in this fiery game of desire.

My lips are fierce with passion. My heart spins fiery beats. A rhythm lives within my fingers and dances in my feet.

You’ve no idea the restraint I’ve created. A word, which in a past life, never held special meaning for me, flows now through the blood of my veins as if to remind me it was...

When we are in love, we are convinced nobody else will do. But as time goes, others do do, and often do do, much much better.

I miss your silent stature, your avoided days of disaster, your present state of distress.I’m cinnamon, cloves and fire, you are the rested cedarwood of desire.