“My Stupid, Shriveled Little Heart Felt Like It Was Reaching For Everything He Was… And That I Was

He grabs my face with an increased force like he wants to stamp it on my brain, whatever he's going to say, and all I can do is hold onto his wrists and watch his impatient, anguished, pained features.

"You deserve someone who gives you his heart out of his chest. Someone who can reach into his own body with his hands and pull it out for you. Pull out that thing that beats only for you."

My eyes pop wide and my own heart causes a ruckus in my chest, more than it already was causing. "I-I do?"

He breathes out angrily. He's angry at me for asking that question.

"You deserve someone who wakes up every morning and gets down on his knees to thank God that you belong to him. And then he does it all over again before he goes to sleep. You deserve someone who lives in awe of you, understand?"

Dreams of 18 by Saffron A. Kent

By Chiara Bautista

*SIGH*

I love it 💓

Through My Window

A través de mi ventana 💘

“But I guess I should know better by now, shouldn’t I? No one can control you. No one can bind you by rules or put you in a box or rein you in. You’re Salem. You’re probably why they name hurricanes and natural catastrophes after girls like you.”

My Darling Arrow by Saffron A. Kent

“Beatrice. ” He clasped her wrist, pulling her toward him. He shifted slightly on the bed to accommodate her, enveloping her in his arms as she rested her head on his naked chest. “I thought you’d forgotten me. ”

“Never,” she choked out as the tears began to flow uncontrollably. “I thought of you every day. ”

"Sometimes I imagine your Fingers in the Wind. Gently touching my Skin, braiding my wild Hair. But then I open my eyes, and it's been just the wind."

He puts his hand between us on the couch, palm up, and then looks back at the TV.

It’s like he’s put out a dish of seed and is now sitting very still, waiting for the cowardly little chicken to make a move. And it does take me a while. I tentatively pick up his hand and lace his fingers into mine.

For a scary moment he doesn’t react, but as the warmth of his hand begins to glow into my palm, he gives me a deep, delicious squeeze.

The art of holding hands is underrated and it’s embarrassing how much this simple act has me nearly breathless.

The Hating Game by Sally Thorne

Seriously THIS