Glass

When you love someone, you don't want to hurt them, even if they deserve to be hurt. When you love someone, you want to hurt them, even when they don't deserve to be hurt.

Sometimes the little things in life mean the most.

I want to open myself, let him inside. But how do I give what has already been taken?

I don't need more pain in my life. Why did I invite it in? Do I have to feel pain to believe I feel anything at all?

God i've missed you. I can't wait to give you your present. He kisses me hotter this time, and beneath me, through his denim and mine. I can feel the promise of his Christmas gift soon to come.

Six months since we met up again we are inseparable, an intricate weave. No longer do I believe this is a temporary fling. More like total commitment. More like I have walked down the aisle, holding hands with the monster.

Yeah, I know getting high isn't so smart. Ask me if I care.

I feel like a goddess, jailed in her Olympus. Little wonder how the gods toyed with humans. Toyed with women, to watch them squirm, pollinate the seeds of despair; toyed with men, to satiate their Seven Deadly Sins.

Life was radical right after I met the monster. Later, life became harder, complicated. Ultimately, a living hell, like swimming against a riptide, Walking the wrong direction in the fast lane of the freeway, Waking from sweetest dreams to find yourself in the middle of a nightmare.

But how do you tell your heart, “No, don't swell with magic, you'll only burst?” How do you tell it to clamp itself off from possibilities? God knows I don't need more pain in life. Why did I invite it in? Do I have to feel pain to believe I feel anything at all?

Without a doubt I understand the monster and I are more than just friends. We're blood brothers.

you're going to die someday anyway, why not die happy, why not die buzzed, why not die satisfied? Why not die sooner, with fewer regrets, than later?

I have to tell him how much i miss him when he's not here. So I snug my face against his pulse in his neck. "I love you" I wait, barely about to breathe. He tightens his arms around me. "I know, and how luck that makes me." I watch him go, wondering just what the fuck that meant to me.

I want to be stunned by passion so intense it knocks me right off my feet, down to my knees, where I know I'll surrender to this luscious insanity.

The problem with sex Is that it changes everything. Brad and I are still friends. But we're a different kind of friends. More than pals. More, even, than fuck buddies. It's like we're stand-ins for the true loves of our lives. And the only way to be that is to let ourselves love each other.

Have you ever tried To quit a bad habit, one that has come to define you?