Keeping Promise Rock

You don't love people at their best, sweetheart. You just love them because you can't help it.

I love you. I want to shout it sometimes. I know you worry about our letters and texts getting read--shades of WWII, haunting us still, I guess, and I'm well aware that nothing's safe on the internet. I worry too. You need to know that when I say it, when I ask you to say it, it's because my lungs feel full of dark water, and seeing it or writing it lets me breathe.

People hurt each other all the time just by being. What matters is that when you hurt someone, you do what you can to make it right.

I'm still not a god," he said apologetically. Crick stood behind him and pulled his shoulders back against that wide, strong chest. "Better than a god," Crick murmured. "You're the reason to have faith.

Okay," Crick said, rolling his eyes. "I give. Which part of my body is more interesting than my ass?" Deacon rewarded his obtuseness with a smack to the head. "Your heart, you fuckin' moron...

hope could betray you—but if you had no hope, life could actually surprise you in the best of ways.

Whatcha doing, Lieu?" she asked cautiously. "Praying," he muttered. "I suck at it." "Your doing it wrong," she said flatly. "I'm not big on church, but I'm pretty sure you're supposed to do it with a friend.

It was the same smile he used in bed with Crick--the gentle, sweet smile that made him look young and a little vulnerable. Crick turned the picture around, and Benny had written, I asked him to think of you.

Jesus, Deacon,” Andrew said from his other side. “Did you know the levee broke? Why didn’t you get up to higher ground?” “’Cause me and God were having a conversation,” Deacon mumbled with as much dignity as he could muster. “I called him a pussy-assed bitch, and he told me he didn’t give a shit. It was a draw.