Whitney

“Crocodile Lies

I confess, yes, our Fall was all my fault
If you kissed my eyes, your lips would taste salt
But you think my regret is a lie, and the tears I cry
Are the crocodile kind.


The sweat on your upper lip starts to boil
White hot with anger, still convinced I'm your foil
You keep fighting me, though my eyes are free
From crocodile lies.


You, yes, you, linger inside my heart
The same you who stopped us before we could start
I didn't want to leave, but you began to believe
Your own crocodile lies.


The only person stopping you is yourself,
You won't accept that I want no one else,
So until you do, I'll let someone else have you


Every day I live the lie,
But not the crocodile kind

--Marcus Flutie”
― Megan McCafferty, Second Helpings

“He takes my mug from my hand and takes a slow sip. Every guy watches him do it. They understand what their boss is telling them. Speculation is now in expressions and I wire my jaw shut to stop it from dropping open.”
― Sally Thorne, 99 Percent Mine

“Look at that mantrum. Eight thousand nerves in the clitoris and still not as sensitive as a white man not getting his way.”
― Abby Jimenez, Part of Your World

“He has the kind of density that makes me constantly guess to myself how much he’d weigh. Does muscle weigh more than fat? He’s a ton. He’s six-six, and I watched him get this tall, but it’s a surprise every time I see him. It’s the body you see on first responders. Think big-ass firemen kicking in doors, ready to save you.

“How do you cope with a skeleton that big?” I ask, and he looks down at himself, mystified. “I mean, how do you coordinate all four limbs and actually ambulate around the place?”

My eyes are back on his shoulders, following the round lines down, the flat sections, the dips and shadowed lines, the creases on the cotton. I can see his belt, which doesn’t know how lucky it is to be strapped around that, and a lush half inch of black underwear waistband, and my cheeks are burning and I can hear my heart and—

“Eyes up, DB.” He’s busted me. Not that I was very subtle. “Me and my skeleton getaround just fine.”
― Sally Thorne, 99 Percent Mine