Change his mind. Tell him you're sorry you grilled his shorts." That you're sorry you've got ice running through your veins .
C.C. HunterHe clung to her more tightly, knotting his hands in her hair, trying to tell her, with the press of his mouth on hers, all the things he could never say out loud: I love you; I love you and I don’t care that you’re my sister; don’t be with him, don’t want him, don’t go with him. Be with me. Want me. Stay with me.
I don’t know how to be without you.
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Wearing: shorts + a jersey = a visual oxymoron.
Mokokoma MokhonoanaTags: clothes cold oxymoron hot visual shorts jersey
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