When I Was 8, I Was Reading

I Have To Step Out For A Second. Don’t Do Anything Funny While I’m Gone.

It Makes Me . . . Anxious . . . To Be Away From You.

It's Not The Face, But The Expressions On It. It's Not The Voice, But What You Say. It's Not How You Look In That Body, But The Thing You Do With It. You Are Beautiful.

I'd Loved In So Many Bodies, But Never One I Loved Like This. Never One That I Craved In This Way. Of Course, This Would Be The One I'd Have To Give Up. The Irony Made Me Laugh, And I Concentrated On The Feel Of The Air That Popped In Little Bubbles From My Chest And Up Through My Throat. Laughter Was Like A Fresh Breeze - It Cleaned Its Way Through The Body, Making Everything Feel Good. Did Other Species Have Such A Simple Healer? I Couldn't Remember One.

“bella, I've Already Expended A Great Deal Of Personal Effort At This Point To Keep You Alive. I'm Not About To Let You Behind The Wheel Of A Vehicle When You Can't Even Walk Straight. Besides, Friends Don't Let Friends Drive Drunk,” He Quoted With A Chuckle. I Could Smell The Unbearably Sweet Fragrance Coming Off His Chest. “drunk?” I Objected. “you're Intoxicated By My Very Presence.” He Was Grinning That Playful Smirk Again.