If it isn't real love you shouldn't deal with it.

Time cures all, I thought, except the truth.

Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet.

But he’s a vampire.” — Heather Fidelia shrugged. “Nobody’s perfect. My second husband—he had six toes on one foot.” “This is a little more serious than that. Jean-Luc is literally dead half the time.” Fidelia nodded. “For most men, that would be an improvement.

Written By Kerrelyn Sparks

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