“ His voice is so low I can feel it brushing my waist. ”
Love.Not the kind you see in the movies or hear about on the radio.The real kind.The kind that gets beaten down and bloody, yet perseveres.The kind that hopes even when hope seems foolish.The kind that can forgives. The kind that believes in healing. The kind that can sit in silence and feel renewed.The real kind of love.It's rare and we have it..
~ Chelsea Fine
Tristan was silent for a few moments, looking at the leaves before them. Life isn't about the past and the future. It's about today. He paused. It's about five minutes from now and two seconds ago. It's moments, you know? Not years. Years aren't what define us.
How did you kill the Ashman in the forest last year?”“I shot him with an arrow.”“What kind of arrow?”“A sharp one.”Nate rolled his eyes. “Really, dude? A sharp one?
Are you okay? You seem ...soggy.Soggy?Yes. Heather nodded. Like you're a depressed spaghetti noodle or something.
