She wrapped her arms tighter around him and rolled her body to rest on top of his. She looked down at him, studying his eyes as her hair fell to his face. She tried to peer into his thoughts, wanting to know this stranger, curious what it was that had made this moment so electric and necessary. She was the first to speak, “Tell me about the first time you fell in love.” He looked up at her curiously. “What?” “Because I want to know you, and I can’t think of a better question. Don’t worry,” her voice was reassuring and close, “I don’t judge.” His hands found the nape of her neck, the line of her shoulders. “We don’t have enough time for you to know me or judge me. But if you want me to tell you . . . I will.” She let lax the muscles of her back and came completely to rest on him. Her heartbeat paced as he started to speak, softly and almost directly into her ear. “Years ago. Her name was Taylor.” “Taylor?” She whispered back. “It’s a beautiful name.” “Well, she was a beautiful girl. Especially to me.” His honesty made her smile – no lies, no editing.
He didn’t coddle some imagined sense of jealousy on her part. She was prepared to take the night for what it was; it had been from the moment she approached him in that bar. “Go on,” she kissed him. “I was with friends, just out for a quiet evening after practice.” “Never mind about that,” he said to her. “It doesn’t matter. Anyhow, we were sitting at our favorite table at our favorite bar. She was a waitress there that night. Now, mind you, I’d seen her before, and I think she’d seen me. But I guess I’d never noticed. Everybody else had noticed her, though.” She nodded her cheek flush to his neck. Close. So close. Yet as he continued, she realized it wasn’t really her to whom he was speaking. “I guess that night I really looked at her for the first time. Not just at her, but about her. I noticed the way she carried herself, the way her mind seemed to work, and the way she smiled. All those things. All the unique things about her that had nothing to do with the way she looked. But I was too nervous to do anything about it.” Her eyes narrowed. “You? Nervous?” “You don’t know me,” he laughed softly.
The Essay on For Eleanor Boylan Talking With God Retreating Into A Cold Night
The end our road that is life, is death and the second we begin to live, we begin to die. A rendition of death and the loss of a loved one is expressed in two different lights in Dylan Thomas Do not go gentle into that Good Night and Anne Sextons for Eleanor Boylan talking with God. Both express the fear and vulnerability of losing someone you thought should live forever Thomas message is an ...
“You only know what I look like, and you presume.” “I . . . I didn’t mean . . .” No. Don’t stumble. Say something, but say it simple. “Go on.” “It’s all right,” he pulled her a bit closer. “I’m used to being judged like the proverbial book cover. But honestly, I’ve always been nervous around women. I just have no clue how to behave around one of you that I think I could really care for.” “Something like this, sure. It’s simple. I’m confident. We met in a bar, we’re here in the moment, and that’s just fine. But when it’s with someone where the goal is a relationship? I get lost. Scared to talk to her. Scared to look in her eyes. Scared I’ll never get to.” He realized she could take his words as cold and distant. He hesitated, fell silent, and looked to her eyes, not wanting to hurt her. “Go ahead,” she comforted. “It’s all right. I’m not asking to be that person for you.” He nodded and continued. “But I guess my hand was forced that night, and to this day, even after everything I’m going to tell you, I’m glad it was.
So, my teammates had a little too many that night and were starting to bet on who could pick her up. They were laughing and joking about it, and the dares were flying. “Well, I knew that sooner or later one of my jerk friends was going to accept the challenge. And don’t get me wrong, these were some of my best friends. But I also knew they could be crass and careless. I didn’t want that to happen with this girl. She had this grace this sort of nobility that shone through; even when she was just waiting tables in a bar. I didn’t want to see it spoiled. I really didn’t. So I did the only thing I could do. I spoke up over all of them, and I accepted the bet myself. “They all looked at me like I was some hero, the epitome of testosterone, off to hit on the hot waitress. But all I really intended to do was walk over to her, say hello, and go back and tell the guys that I was dumped, and never even stood a chance. That way they’d leave her alone. “And so I got up out of my seat and walked over to her as she stood next to the bar. She was filling out an order or something, I don’t know. I walked up behind her and touched her politely on the shoulder.
The Term Paper on Open The Door Left Back Walk
From the start of the mission, walk forward. You " ll soon be in an open area with a large building ahead and to the right. That's the house you " ll be breaking into. If you continue walking straight ahead, you " ll see the front entrance and the three guards stationed there. To find the sewers, though, turn to the right and walk around the house. You " ll see an entrance to the sewer, which ...
I could sense my friends watching. It was horrible. Not because I was embarrassed or worried or anything, but because the whole situation seemed to tarnish what I saw in her. “But when she turned around to me, I forgot everything – why I was there, who was watching, everything . . . I honestly didn’t have any concept of what the hell was going on. All I saw was her. She had these eyes. Gorgeous, you know. Completely crystal except for a ring of dark green around the iris. Brown hair, with just a hint of auburn that the desert sun had melted into it. Olive skin, very Mediterranean. To this day, she is still the most classically beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.” She said nothing, but bade him continue with a caress of his cheek. “When she turned around to me, at first there was this typical smile on her face, the one she put on for all the customers. But when she saw it was I, I think I saw that smile change . . . Change, I think, into a genuine one. I just looked at her for a second, trying to say something, anything. Finally, I just decided to be honest and polite. I said ‘Would it be inappropriate for me to ask for your phone number?'” “I remember… I remember how she responded. She wore this sincere yet coy grin as she replied, ‘Yes, it’s inappropriate, but someone who realizes that deserves a second chance.’ Then she wrote her phone number on a receipt and gave it to me beneath the bar; so that no one saw, squeezing my hand for just an instant as she did so. Then she went straight back to work.”
The Essay on The Time Is Night By Liudmila
The Time is Night is a short novel by Liudmila Petrushevskaya. It is one of the few stories that I enjoy reading over and over again. The reason is that each time I re-read it, I perceive it in a slightly different way. The complicity of characters and the style of the novel is what I would like to emphasize most about the novel, as well as the fact that The Time is Night represents an outstanding ...
“I walked back over to the table, doing my best whipped puppy dog even though I was elated by what had just happened. I told them that I never even stood a chance. They all laughed and slapped me on the back and consoled me for my efforts. They slid a beer in front of me and told me that many had tried before, and all had failed. She was untouchable, they said, cold and standoffish to men in general. “I just pretended to sulk over the drink. But I knew the truth. I guess I’d seen it all along. She wasn’t cold or unapproachable. In fact, she was one of the warmest people I’ve ever met. She was just simply . . .dignified. That’s the word. She was a person of dignity. She wasn’t about to stand for anyone who didn’t approach her with sincerity and humility and respect. Maybe I was just the lucky guy who finally did so, accident though it was . . ..” She smiled. “So what happened? Was that when you knew you loved her? That first night in that bar?” He thought for a moment. “No. Well, maybe. I don’t know. I guess looking back from the perspective of a couple years, I think maybe I did fall in love with her at that first exchange of eye contact and words.
What was more obvious to me, though, was the moment I knew for certain I loved her . . ..” “We’d been seeing each other for just a couple weeks after that night in the bar. I’d stop by her sorority house after classes or she’d come over to my apartment before she had to go to work. We’d had dinner a couple times, I guess, and just talked and spent time, you know? It was nice. But there was this one moment, this one point in time late one night that something happened to me that I can’t really explain even to this day. “It was about midnight in the middle of the week and I’d been working like a dog all day, either at practice or studying for some test or another.” He shook his head and laughed bitterly at himself. “God, I was so completely wrapped up in every detail of those things, so obsessed. It all seemed so important. Success, “But she called just then, just to say goodnight after she’d come home from work. I think she sensed my mood and so she asked me to come over and spend time with her, just to take a break. Of course, I went on and on about how I had too much to do tests and everything.
The Essay on The Use Of The Word Love
Six months after I met a young man, he expressed to me how much he loved me. Being sixteen years old, I thought it to be very flattering but I could not accept him saying this to me. The word, love in the romantic sense, is something that would take so much out of me to say to a person. Love is something that you express to someone that you can not, in any way, see living your life without. The ...
But she was persistent, and so I agreed to go over and see her. “When I got there, though, I was a real jerk. I mean truly. I just sat in a chair and pouted about how I was going to screw up the test the next day or how I needed to sleep for tomorrow’s game. God, looking back I realize how stupid that was, how little those things really mean in comparison to someone you care about. But back then, they seemed like everything to me. Accomplishments. Recognition. All of it. So I sat there and fumed, selfish as could be. “But she just looked at me from where she was sitting on the bed, her back resting against the wall, and she smiled – this unbelievably knowing smile, born of her old soul. She told me to be quiet and to join her on the bed. I looked at her for a second, not quite sure what to make of the request. It wasn’t forward or overt or anything . . . I don’t know. It was just pleasant. So I got up out of the chair and walked over to her. “She reached out to me and sat me down next to her. She placed my head on her shoulder, and just wrapped her arms around my chest, and I lay there supported against her, her back against the wall and me resting in her arms.
And what happened to me next I will never forget. It sounds so simple, but it was the first time I’d ever felt it. “I took a breath. For the first time in my life, there in her arms. It was the first time I ever noticed that I was breathing. Honest to God it was the most amazing sensation. I was there next to her, neither of us said anything, and she just held me. And I breathed. “I didn’t think about anything else, and even if I had, it wouldn’t have mattered. It was surreal. I felt every breath and each heartbeat in my body, and I felt her arms rise and fall with my chest. Everything else just went away. It was that moment. That very instant when I knew that I loved her.” He shook his head slowly. “Never did. I’ll never know why I didn’t. . . Just scared, I guess. When you spend your whole life setting goals and chasing after them, it’s a bit frightening to meet someone for whom you’d give them up.” “Oh, God, no. I would have loved for it to go on, to have more of a chance to learn what I was feeling. No. It wasn’t I. She was the one who ended it. And it wasn’t much more than a few weeks after that night on the bed.” “I don’t either.
The Essay on Hardcore Life Time Love
Dedicated to all the people who see hardcore as it was meant to be. Identified not by a particular sound or certain style but by its ideals-in the pure's t sense- as a way of life, a way of thinking. A mindset that comes naturally to some people. A way of life we still very much believe in. Hardcore was meant to be free form of aggressive expression- an underground subculture- a community joined ...
I don’t either . . .” His voice portrayed deep curiosity and just a hint of remembered pain. “Even now I don’t know why. She just told me one night that I wasn’t what she needed. I guess her exact words were something like ‘she didn’t want someone who she felt obliged to care about.’ It was too hard for her at that point in her life, she said, to be with somebody that made her think long term, and she told me to take it as a compliment . . ..” He paused a moment and grunted sarcastically, “Yeah . . . Compliment. Really made me feel a whole lot better about the situation.” “Maybe she was right, though. Maybe to her you couldn’t be just a passing moment.” He nodded slightly and then was silent for an extended moment. Eventually, he shrugged, “Well, I guess I wish she’d realized that life itself is a series of passing moments. Let one go by, and you’ll never get to the next.” She studied his face for a moment. “You still love her, don’t you?” He didn’t hesitate, “Yeah . . . Yeah I do. If for nothing else but that one night. I’ll never forget that experience.
Yes. I still love her.” “Don’t be,” he squeezed her tightly as she held him. “What she gave me was priceless, even though I never told her.” She fell silent, thinking long and hard. Eventually, she found the courage to ask, “I know you don’t know anything about me, don’t even know my last name. But . . . Could you feel like that here with me?” He laughed quietly to himself, a little sighing laugh of wisdom. “You could ask me that question ten years from now knowing everything about me, knowing my deepest secrets . . . You could ask me that as my wife and as the mother of my children . . .” He smiled and touched her cheek as he whispered; “The answer wouldn’t change. Only once can someone breathe for the first time.”
The Term Paper on In A Balloon Jerry Anna Don
... hands and then back at Anna. They share a moment of silence before the BURNER SHOOTS out flames into ... here I am. Anna finds this very funny. JERRY Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. ANNA Sorry, it's just the way ... true... she's blind. He just waits there for a moment. ANNA You didn't fall out of the basket ... Bruce the attendant tucks her money into his pocket. Don the Pilot is already aboard, doing a last-minute ...
