Butterfly In Stomach Quotes

Every butterfly in the world has migrated to my stomach.

Good. So you may be dense, but you’re not an idiot.’ ‘How can you even talk to me like that? Don’t you know I can summon zombies and skeletons and –’ ‘Right now you couldn’t summon a wishbone without melting into a puddle of darkness, di Angelo,’ Will said. ‘I told you, no more Underworldy stuff, doctor’s orders. You owe me at least three days of rest in the infirmary. Starting now.’ Nico felt like a hundred skeletal butterflies were resurrecting in his stomach. ‘Three days? I – I suppose that would be okay.

Kind of like love before first sight.” and “Butterflies in your stomach. That was such a crappy metaphor. More like killer bees.

Feeling in love (or lust) and fear feel a lot alike. They both give you that anxious butterfly feeling in your stomach, a sense of excitement, and a general unease physically and mentally. It's easy to confuse love with fear.

Me plus you. (Imma tell you one time) Me plus you. (Imma tell you one time) Me plus you. (Imma tell you one time) One time. When I met ya girl my heart when knock (knock knock) Now them butterflies in my stomach won't stop (stop stop) Even love is a struggle and it's all we got. So we gun keep keep climbing to the mountain top. 'Cause your world, is my world, and my breath is your breath, and my heart is yours...

I smiled back as he walked away, but all the lovely butterflies in my stomach landed one by one in a cold, dead heap.

Then she did something that really surprised me. She blinked back tears and put out her arms. I stepped forward and hugged her. Butterflies started turning my stomach into a mosh pit. "Hey, it's... it's okay." I patted her back. I was aware of everything in the room. I felt like I could read the tiniest print on any book on the shelves. Annabeth's hair smelled like lemon soap. She was shivering.

Butterflies in the stomach, a smile that won't go away, and it's like an addiction that makes a person yearn for more. It's not something one thinks about, it's something that's felt, involuntarily.

Oh right. What about Wendy?" I ask "What about her?" "It's her birthday, too. I'm the worst friend ever. I should have sent her something. Did you exchange gifts?" "Not yet." He turns toward me. "But she gave me the perfect gift." The way he's looking at me sends butterflies into my stomach. "What?" "You.

Somewhere someone thinks they love someone else exactly like I love you. Somewhere someone shakes from the ripple of a thousand butterflies inside a single stomach. Somewhere someone is packing their bags to see the world with someone else. Somewhere someone is reaching through the most terrifying few feet of space to hold the hand of someone else. Somewhere someone is watching someone else’s chest rise and fall with the breath of slumber. Somewhere someone is pouring ink like blood onto pages fighting to say the truth that has no words. Somewhere someone is waiting patient but exhausted to just be with someone else. Somewhere someone is opening their eyes to a sunrise in someplace they have never seen. Somewhere someone is pulling out the petals twisting the apple stem picking up the heads up penny rubbing the rabbits foot knocking on wood throwing coins into fountains hunting for the only clover with only 4 leaves skipping over the cracks snapping the wishbone crossing their fingers blowing out the candles sending dandelion seeds into the air ushering eyelashes off their thumbs finding the first star and waiting for 11:11 on their clock to spend their wishes on someone else. Somewhere someone is saying goodbye but somewhere someone else is saying hello. Somewhere someone is sharing their first or their last kiss with their or no longer their someone else. Somewhere someone is wondering if how they feel is how the other they feels about them and if both theys could ever become a they together. Somewhere someone is the decoder ring to all of the great mysteries of life for someone else. Somewhere someone is the treasure map. Somewhere someone thinks they love someone else exactly like I love you. Somewhere someone is wrong.

Oh, God. I'm in big trouble. Because I'm staring. I can't keep my eyes from ogling his chiseled triceps and biceps and every other "eps ' he has. The butterflies in my stomach have just multiplied tenfold as my wandering gaze meets his.

It was a completely new feeling for me–like someone had just released a million, tiny butterflies loose in my stomach, and they were feverishly flying up into my head and making me lose my mind.

Why do you call me Dominic?" he asked me, ignoring my question and my trembling. My mind was getting all mushy, and my stomach was fluttering with butterflies. "Because it's your name." He grinned. "Everyone calls me Nico though, only my brothers call my Dominic." I shrugged. "I'm not like everyone else.

Butterflies in your stomach. That was such a crappy metaphor. More like killer bees.

she had attempted to poison me. Believe me when I say this woman gave me butterflies in my stomach. Though that might just be internal bleeding. Either way, she had charmed me.

Hold on to me!” Tedros yelled, hacking briars with his training sword.Dazed, Agatha clung to his chest as he withstood thorn lashes with moans of pain. Soon he had the upper hand and pulled Agatha from the Woods towards the spiked gates, which glowed in recognition and pulled apart, cleaving a narrow path for the two Evers. As the gates speared shut behind them,Agatha looked up at limping Tedros, crisscrossed with bloody scratches, blue shirt shredded away. “Had a feeling Sophie was getting in through the Woods,” he panted, hauling her up into slashed arms before she could protest. “So Professor Dovey gave me permission to take some fairies and stakeout the outer gates. Should have known you’d be here trying to catch her yourself.” Agatha gaped at him dumbly. “Stupid idea for a princess to take on witches alone,” Tedros said, dripping sweat on her pink dress. “Where is she?” Agatha croaked. “Is she safe?” “Not a good idea for princesses to worry about witches either,” Tedros said, hands gripping her waist. Her stomach exploded with butterflies. “Put me down,” she sputtered— “More bad ideas from the princess.” “Put me down!”Tedros obeyed and Agatha pulled away. “I’m not a princess!” she snapped, fixing her collar. “If you say so,” the prince said, eyes drifting downward.Agatha followed them to her gashed legs, waterfalls of brilliant blood. She saw blood blurring— Tedros smiled. “One . . . two . . . three . . .”She fainted in his arms. “Definitely a princess,” he said.

...but love isn’t always roses and rainbows and butterflies in your stomach. It’s equally cruel and painful and the world’s worst villain.

Yeah, they’re just matches,” I continued, my voice growing thick with tears. “And memories and smells and sounds and butterflies in my stomach every time I heard the car door slam outside, telling me that he was home. A thousand dreams of all the places I’d have adventures someday.

Oh, gross. Your stomach is full of butterfly barf!

Aren't you hungry?" he asked, distracted. "No." I didn't feel like mentioning that my stomach was already full - of butterflies.

Then she would be done with J. D. Jameson forever. No more having to prove herself; no more of those pesky jitters she felt whenever she saw him at work—something like butterflies in her stomach, it was actually quite annoying; no more stress; no more fights in the library; and definitely no more sexy I’m-gonna-kiss-you-now-woman blue-eyed heated gazes. She had no idea why she just thought that.

A flock of butterflies riots in my stomach and steals my breath.

It's all right to have butterflies in your stomach. Just get them to fly in formation

It’s okay to have butterflies in your stomach, as long as you make them fly in formation,

Mind yourself in that guardroom," Gilan told him. Thorn grinned cheerfully. He never had any stomach butterflies before a fight. "I plan to be subtle," he said. Gilan looked at him, his head tilted curiously. "How's that?" "Once we go through that door, I'll bash anything that moves. And if they don't move, Stig will bash them." "You have a strange concept of subtle," Gilan said. Thorn's grin grew wider, "So I've been told.

Love fades with time. Sex becomes routine. You pretend to be in love with the person you once loved with all your heart. You have to make compromises. Romance doesn’t last. The person you fell in love with eventually won’t give you butterflies in your stomach anymore. You want them out of your life, but you can’t get the words to come out of your mouth.

And she loved the way he made her feel, the way her heart beat when he was near, the electricity she felt at his touch, and the nervous butterflies he always caused in her stomach.

He winks at me, and the surge of butterflies in my stomach is so strong I think I may throw up right there. I need something to calm my nerves. The most obvious remedy is more alcohol. They don't call it liquid courage for nothing.

Butterflies in her stomach. Because she understood his words from last night now, knew that he’d been on his very, very best behavior. Tonight . . . tonight she’d be tangling with the dominant, wild heart of him.

There weren't butterflies in my stomach, there were fire breathing dragons.

The butterflies swirl again in Sera’s stomach. Perhaps they have brought along fireflies too, to light up her soul.

You’ll be my girlfriend?” he asked. Butterflies were throwing a party in my stomach. “If that’s what you want.” “I want.” Remy grinned.

He grinned at me again, and the butterflies in my stomach turned into dragons and laid waste to my innards.

Okay, so I admit that the first day of school I was so nervous that the butterflies in my stomach were more like pigeons flying around my insides.

Alternatives to “Bae” The one who wins all of the arguments, the keeper of the remote, the girl who turns my stomach into a butterfly nest, the pink Starburst, the one I will always choose first no matter what else is in the pack, the red Kool-Aid, the right amount of sugar, the pulp, the part that makes the juice seem real.

I never got over that," he murmured, breaking away just long enough for a breath. I slid my hands up his chest. "What?" "How well you kiss. Over the last seven years," he went on, resting his forehead against mine, "I went on so many dates, I kissed so many people, I tried to fall in love again and again, and all I could think about was you." I wasn't sure what to say. "All seven years?" "Two thousand five hundred and fifty-five days. Not that I was counting," he added, because clearly he had been, and that made the butterflies in my stomach awfully happy. Seven years—seven whole years.

As i crawled up the bed to sit beside him, my pterodactyl butterflies somersaulted in my stomach. Good God, he was gorgeous and i was in bed with him.

Butterflies instantly came to life in his stomach, and the little bastards were heavily armed.

If there’s a physical component to falling in love—the butterflies in your stomach, the roller coaster of your soul—then there’s an equal physical component to falling out of love. It feels like your lungs are sieves, so you can’t get enough air. Your insides freeze solid. Your heart becomes a tiny, bitter pearl, a chemical reaction to one irritating grain of truth.

But Rachel, every time you hurt, I hurt. Particularly, when I'm the cause of it. I've been an insensitive jerk. But I need you to know that you are all I can think about. That you give me freaking butterflies in my stomach. That when we're together I feel like...” “Cloud walking.” Rachel grinned.

Hey, we’re your friends. We wouldn’t miss it.” “But . . .” She stopped herself. “What is it?” I asked. “The prophecy?” “I’m sure it’s fine,” she said in a small voice. “What was the last line?” Then she did something that really surprised me. She blinked back tears and put out her arms. I stepped forward and hugged her. Butterflies started turning my stomach into a mosh pit. “Hey, it’s . . . it’s okay.

He wanted her closer, or so he had said. It put butterflies in her stomach as much as it put alarms in her head.

Butterflies catch fire in my stomach. An inexplicable humiliation is searing my flesh. I don’t know where to look.

I reached for a Coca-Cola. “Want some?” I asked. “I do not drink caffeine,” he said. “Wow, you make me look like a bad girl; that's hard to do.” He cracked a big smile for the first time I'd seen, and a huge dimple appeared in his right cheek. A butterfly wing flapped in my stomach. I turned my attention back to the drinks, fumbling a little for a cup. “Don't let me pressure you,” I said. “I was only kidding. We don't need you all hyped up on caffeine. How about ginger ale instead?" “Is that drink not only for upset stomachs?

Seth swallowed and all sorts of cramps ran through his stomach. He’d call them ‘butterflies’, but with Dom they were moths at best. Just as lively, but uncomfortable in daylight, creatures of the night, like Seth’s lust for Dom.

Those rose-tinted glasses look good on you, Sunshine." Sunshine? I was sure he meant that mockingly, but the butterflies in my stomach stirred to life anyway, fanning away my anger. Traitors.

We humans have known since time immemorial something that science is only now discovering: our gut feeling is responsible in no small measure for how we feel. We are “scared shitless” or we can be “shitting ourselves” with fear. If we don’t manage to complete a job, we can’t get our “ass in gear.” We “swallow” our disappointment and need time to “digest” a defeat. A nasty comment leaves a “bad taste in our mouth.” When we fall in love, we get “butterflies in our stomach.” Our self is created in our head and our gut—no longer just in language, but increasingly also in the lab.

...I realized that happiness could be more—something that elevates from the inside. Butterflies in the stomach, a smile that won't go away, and it's like an addiction that makes a person yearn for more. It‘s not something one thinks about, it‘s something that‘s felt, involuntarily. I had always been a thinker, trying to find happiness and comfort in thoughts and ideas. It was only now that I realized happiness begins in the heart...

Something light and velvety brushed against my heart…and fluttered. Just once, but it was enough for me to identify it. A butterfly. No, no, no. I loved animals, I truly did, but I could not have a butterfly living in my stomach. Not for Rhys Larsen. It needed to die immediately.

What if the butterflies flew too close to the edge of my stomach, so he could see the imprints of their wings pressed up against my skin?

Love it’s always roses and rainbows and butterflies in your stomach. It’s equally cruel and painful and the world’s worst villain.

My pulse is buzzing and my stomach is a riot of butterflies and half-digested peanut butter cookies.

I don't tell him I couldn't have gorged if I'd tried, my stomach stuffed full of butterflies and grown-up worries.

Tomorrow we would reach Skyfell, and I slept soundly that night. I wasn’t sure if it was because I had a full stomach or because a certain SwordBrother slept closer to my bedroll than normal.

How did you find me?" "I always know where you are, every moment.Five years ago you said you needed time, and I gave it to you. But I've never left you. I never will." There was a gentle finality to his words, an echo of the resolve in his mind. Savannah's heart lurched. "Don't do this, Gregori. You know how I feel. I've created a new life for myself." His hand,gentle in her hair, sent butterflied rising in her stomach. "You cannot change what you are. You are my lifemate, and it is time for you to come to me.

Nerves are God's gift to you, reminding you that your life is not passing you by, Make friend with the butterflies. Welcome them when they come, revel in them, enjoy them, and if they go away, do whatever it takes to put yourself in a position where they return. Better to have a stomach full of butterflies than to feel like life is passing you by.

You are the thing that the poets write about, you are what the choir of angels is singing about, you are the thing that clouds part above and the sun beams down upon. You're every butterfly, in every stomach. You're my every tender thought.

There was no way those things in my stomach were butterflies. The beating wings in my stomach definitely belonged to an eagle.

Butterflies emerged in her stomach. She promptly willed them dead.

The butterflies in my stomach turn into vampire bats as we pull up to the school.

We sat down and I could feel my breathing quicken as the butterflies returned to dance in my stomach.

His head was swimming freestyle, but someone in his stomach was doing the butterfly.

Looks are worth nothing, she thought, dismissing the butterflies in her stomach.

Butterflies sprout in my stomach, and I decide they’re fucking drunk, too.

All the books speak of butterflies, but I feel birds in my stomach, thick-winged and thrashing.

In all honesty, he’s most likely going to get sex somewhere else if he’s not getting it from you. This is still GOOD! While he’s using some other woman for sex, he’s thinking about you and what it will take to get you to be his girl. She’ll be the quick piece of ass and you’ll be the woman that gives him butterflies in his stomach. He’ll use her for sex, while you’re receiving flowers and going out on nice dates. She’ll be the one hurt in the end, while you’ll be “the one” who made him fall in love.

She'd heard of people having butterflies in their stomaches, and she knew what they meant. That flapping, uneasy feeling deep in your gut. But she had it now everywhere. Butterflies under all of her skin, fluttering, sending shivers that moved in waves up and down her body.

Michael leaned in, his voice turning low and heavy. “And how about me?” I swallowed, still studying my drink. What song described him? What band? That was like trying to pick one food to eat for the rest of your life. “Disturbed,” I said, naming the band and still looking down at the glass. He said nothing. Only remained still before finally sitting back and tipping his drink up to his lips. Butterflies swarmed in my stomach, and I kept my breathing even. “Drowning Pool, Three Days Grace, Five Finger Death Punch,” I continued, “Thousand Foot Krutch, 10 Years, Nothing More, Breaking Benjamin, Papa Roach, Bush…” I paused, exhaling nice and slow despite the way my heart drummed. “Chevelle, Skillet, Garbage, Korn, Trivium, In This Moment…” I drifted off, peace settling over me as I looked up at him. “You’re in everything.

I can't help it, I run up to him and put my arms around him. Shocked he pulls away, just a little because my arms are still around him and he lifts my head to look at him and kisses me. "And you've been trying to act like you aren't interested." he says while smiling that smile that makes butterflies suddenly appear in multitudes in my stomach.

And miss all the moments that send the butterflies loose in your stomach? No way. First date, first kiss, first slow dance. Popping the question and hearing yes. The falling matters, too. Not just the ever after.

None of you understand what love really is. It's not lust, or dependence, or infatuation, or familiarity. Love isn't a fondness or butterflies in your stomach." "Then what is it?" Elis managed to ask. "Love is the degree to which you are willing to sacrifice your own interests for those of another.

And the third is from him: "Second date?" I immediately text him back: "Hell yeah!" Then I collapse on my bed and enjoy that "butterflies in the stomach" feeling. I've felt the butterflies before from time to time, but this is the first time I haven't sort of wanted to attack them with a flyswatter.

I can't tell you what love is, I really don't know that there's a concrete definition for it. But I can tell you what love is to me. When I was younger it was the way I got butterflies in the pit of my stomach every time your name was mentioned, it was the way my mind only wanted to think of you; daydream of you. The way I yearned for you and laughed louder when I was with you. You made me feel safe, cherished and happy despite my unhappiness. (...) Love is knowing that one day when I'm old and my body aches, my heart won't, because I'll be with you.

One corner of his mouth tips up. 'Gisele,' he mocks. 'Prom king,' I mock back. With a soft chuckle, he spares me one last look before striding off.

I wonder if this is what falling in love sounds like. Like butterfly wings in my ears and trumpets in my stomach and like the pound of bass in my chest.

In the pit of my stomach, a nest of butterflies were born and began drinking energy drinks.

Beautiful butterflies flap their delicate wings in my abdomen before I clench my abs and drown them in stomach acid.

There’s just something about having everyone agree on something—something about you—that opens a cage of butterflies in your stomach.

It's all right to have butterflies in your stomach...but you've got to make them fly in formation.

I’m not nervous, but I have butterflies in my stomach. Or at least I will, because I just swallowed a bunch of caterpillars.

Better to have a stomach full of butterflies than to feel like your life is passing you by.

get butterflies in my stomach when I’m with you. First time it happened, I thought I was hungry or something. But I wasn’t. It was just you.

His low, gravelly voice tickles my ear, sending the butterflies in my belly into overdrive. In fact, they may have exploded. My stomach is now a butterfly graveyard.

Believe me when I say this woman gave me butterflies in my stomach. Though that might just be internal bleeding. Either way, she had charmed me.

The chrysalis moves in my solar plexus fulfilling its mission to quietly emerge... then I see you and a thousand butterflies migrate into my heart.

All we need to do is get those nervous butterflies in our stomachs flying in formation.

But there's something else following right behind. It's a sinking feeling that settles into my stomach in the place where those butterflies were fluttering earlier, like someone just threw a bunch of gravel on top of them, smothering out their fire, destroying their wings.

The sweetness of his breath whispering past my cheek and ear, as his soft, sure lips warmly grace my skin, makes my stomach feel like a thousand dainty butterflies swirled into flight.

I choose you,” I say, feeling the butterflies in my stomach at the way his eyes devour my chest. He’s starving, and I want to be his offering. I’d willingly be his sacrifice. Make me yours.

So…” I start. “I… You wanted me to stop by?” Just so we’re clear, he’s still melting my insides with a single look, and I’m still a babbling idiot who can’t form a sentence. Xavier moves closer to me, a single whiff of his cologne enough to make my knees buckle. “No,” he shocks me by saying. My jaw hangs limply. “I wanted you to come and stay,” he corrects, and a herd of murderous butterflies assault my stomach. “Stay tonight?” He moves closer again. “Forever,” he says unapologetically. I avoid his gaze. “Xav, I—” “Don’t fucking go, Vee.” He cuts to the chase, cupping my face in his hands without a single thought as to the possibility of people seeing us. “I know this is shitty, and complicated, and it’d be easier for you to get on that plane, but… I don’t want easy—fuck easy. I want you. I love you, Vee,” he croaks, pressing his forehead flush to mine. “Just… stay.

There's a difference between being in love and being horny. When you are horny you want release, when you are in love, you don't want to be released, you just want to stay there in that state forever.

And then he leaned forward and my stomach collapsed, taking in that last breath. I closed my eyes and watched in awe as all the butterflies flew up into the sky, free, mingling with the exploding lights.

Yet as if he’s heard my thoughts, Caz turns around, and his eyes are darker, his mouth softer at the corners, almost gentle. 'I’m kidding, by the way,' he says evenly. 'You’re still way hotter than my manager.

I thought love was supposed to be weak knees and butterflies in your stomach and a terrible longing that could never be quenched." Eeny shook her head, chuckled, came over and embraced me. "No, child", she said gently, patting my back. "That's romance. Romance is build on doubt. Love is solid. Constant. If you're not careful, you might mistake it for bein' boring because it's so reliable. Love is warm and deep and comfortable, just right, so you float in peacefully without ever being scalded or frozen, like a perfect, relaxing bubble bath.

[...] “What were you going to do if he’d refused ?” Jaenelle looked at him and smiled. Butterflies filled his stomach and tickled unmercifully before turning into heavy, sinking stones. “Well,” his darling said, “you have a wonderful deep voice too. So if Papa refused, I was going to ask you.” Saetan walked into the sitting room where he’d asked Geoffrey and Draca, the Keep’s Seneschal, to meet him. “My friends, this bottle of wine arrived this evening, compliments of Prince Sadi. Since it came from the wine cellar at the Hall, I can assure you it is a very fine vintage, one best enjoyed when shared.” He called in three glasses and opened the wine. Draca said nothing until he handed her a glass. “What iss the occassion ?” Saetan grinned. “My son has just realized how much his father loves him.

In the beginning of our love lives, it is the beastly instinct of sexual attraction that drives us all. The butterflies in your stomach simply signal your mind that the person in front of you would make a fantastic mate to make babies with. Without this primeval drive, you won’t ever fall for anyone in your entire lifetime. The very attraction you feel towards a person in a romantic way, is a mental manifestation of a subconscious desire to mate with that person.

I think it’s time to go ahead and start, don’t you? We don’t want them to have enough time to make a trip back to shore with her.” Galen swims to within an inch of my face. His lazy grin sends a thousand butterflies whipping up a tornado in my stomach. “Start what? The rescue, or the rest of our lives together?” Just the words make my heart jump, let alone the look he gives me when he says it. We haven’t had much time to talk about what all this means for us, but at least I know we can be together. On our own terms, in our own time. Finally. “Both,” I breathe. “This is not the time to be all mushy,” Rayna calls from below us. “I swear you two are expert time wasters. So inconsiderate.” Galen winks at me and dives to his sister. “Wait,” I call to him. He stops. “I just wanted to say, I like your big fin. I think it’s sexy.” Which is the truth. Now t’s more than double the size of any other Syrena. I know he’s self-conscious about it; he thinks it makes him stand out more. What Galen doesn’t realize is that he already stood out. He was already special. This new fin doesn’t change anything. Well, except for making me hotter for him than I already was. “Really?” Galen says. I nod and blow him a kiss. By his confused expression, he has no idea what I’m doing. My Syrena human ambassador still has a lot to learn about the intimate details of the human world. And I’ll be happy to assist him with that.

The butterflies are working their way up from my stomach into my head, making me feel dizzy, and I try to calm myself by imagining the ocean outside, its ragged breathing, the seagulls turning pinwheels in the sky. It will be over soon, I tell myself. It will be over soon and then you’ll go home, and you’ll never have to think about the evaluation again.

What if I promise to keep my pants on?” The smile in his voice had butterflies fluttering in her stomach. She stared up at the ceiling. “Fine. But you’ll have to leave mine on, too.” “Well, shit.” His laughter warmed her all over. “You drive a hard bargain.” “I’m all about hard things.” She ran her tongue along her teeth. “You do have that effect on me.

I pondered what I had to be thankful for this Thanksgiving. My dad was fighting a war. My mother was fighting her emotions. And me? I was fighting my fear to approach the first boy who ever gave me butterflies in my stomach every time I thought of him.

If you are working on something, about to deliver it, moments from opening the doors, an hour from everybody arriving, a week from the release date, two minutes from getting the results back, and you have butterflies in your stomach, be grateful. You are in a wonderful place. Nerves are God's gift to you, reminding you that your life is not passing you by. Make friends with the butterflies. Welcome when they come, revel in them, enjoy them, and if they go away, do whatever it takes to put yourself in a position where they return. Better to have a stomach full of butterflies than to feel like your life is passing you by.

These butterflies almost hurt. They feel like they're writhing beneath my skin, taking over my stomach, impeding my vision. Because all I cans see is Rhett. On the back of my eyelids when I sleep, and with me all the fucking time when I'm not asleep. It's like he's become an extension of me, a necessary part of my personal ecosystem. Infatuation by proximity. It's like I never even had a shot.

My thoughts shock me. There's a desperate heat in the pit of my stomach I wish I could ignore. There are butterflies in my chest I wish I could explain away. There's an ache in my core that I'm unwilling to name. Beautiful. He's so beautiful>. I must be insane.

The feeling I’d felt was so foreign to me. It was nothing like butterflies in my stomach. It was like dragons. Fierce, intense, and powerful. I’d never felt that before with another person. I’d never felt connected to something so strongly. I’d wondered if he felt it, too.

As they drove on the quiet A3320 towards Notting Hill, Doris spoke. “He won’t, you know. He won’t pay the ransom.” Wolfe offered her a reassuring smile, but inside his stomach housed a million butterflies. Shamefully, he passed wind again, the words of his captive disconcerting him on his journey to Shepherd’s Bush.

Touch was absolutely out of the question. I couldn’t stop sweating. My heart, a butterfly pinned to a glacier. Empires fell inside my mouth. I touched myself like a pogrom & broke my sex into a history of inconsequential shames. I wept viciously inside of my own stomach & had it condemned. From an upside-down bell I drank silence, subsisted on the memory of someone else’s hands. Wolves sang & I did not answer. I forgot their names. Mornings were the worst, then there were days & evenings. Streetlights & darkened sycamore & suburban grief so full it made me foolish. I shattered my fist on the Lord’s jaw. Sorrow sat, licking my wrists & my neck. I slept at its convenience. O, uncelebrated body. My penis, a lighthouse on the bottom of the ocean, shining shadows at the undersides of boats. Nobody drowned for so many years. Desperate for the making of those candy-throated ghosts, I found the rooms between the violence of comets. I threw myself into anything’s path. Even the sky bent around me. How lonely to be something that nothing wants to kill. (So I Locked Myself Inside A Star for Twenty Years)

What's Luke doing here?" He kept the Harley steady while I got off. He swung his leg over and stood up, removing his helmet and gloves. "I called him from Jason's place. He's going to help us get your stuff moved over." "Wow." A laugh bubbled on my lips, surprising me after the heartbreak I'd experienced at Wyatt's house. "You don't waste any time." "Nope." He tipped his head with a cocky grin that launched butterflies in my stomach. "Don't want to wait for you to come to your senses.

No part of me believes," I say, "that you struggle with first impressions." He brushes his thick hair up off his forehead, and it stays there, all except that one strand, of course, which is determined to fall sensually across his eyebrow. "Maybe you make me a little nervous." "Yeah, right," I say, spine tingling. "Just because you don't see me grabbing a mop every time you walk into a room doesn't mean I don't notice you're there." It feels like a bowling ball has landed in my stomach, a sudden drop. Then come the butterflies.

It was just a quick touch of his lips and it left her breathless, as always. In that moment his kiss infuriated her. This was only supposed to happen in the movies! It was a feeling designed by books! She wasn’t supposed to feel her lungs seize and butterflies were not supposed to run rampant in her stomach, just because a man pressed his lips to her lips

Stupid, love-sick butterflies took flight in my stomach, and I cursed every moronic one of them. Fucking butterflies never thought with their heads.

Those butterflies in my stomach were getting out of hand; I needed pest control or something.

There aren’t butterflies in my stomach. No soft pitter-patters  of flapping wings or gentle flips. Instead, he causes an inferno, raging through my system and disintegrating me.

I didn't feel like mentioning that my stomach was already full — of butterflies.

These butterflies almost hurt. They feel like they’re writhing beneath my skin, taking over my stomach, impeding my vision.

Butterflies were all very pretty in a meadow. They were altogether less comfortable in her stomach.

I can’t tell if I’m feeling butterflies or barbed wire in my stomach.

It gives me the crawling caterpillars in my stomach—not butterflies. I’m jealous of those free-flying bitches.

Luz felt as though all the millions of butterflies that were flying on this same journey south were fluttering in her stomach.

Oh, hi, Ben," I tried to sound casual, but my head started pounding, my palms started sweating, and the butterflies were doing Zumba in my stomach.

butterflies in my stomach and I are old friends,

From the very first moment I saw you, "Hi." "Hi." My heart has raced with adrenaline. Stomach full of butterflies and one mind hopelessly full of love.

She felt her heart beating like a drum and her stomach feeling like a playground for a dozen butterflies.

My stomach fluttered. Not butterflies, just excitement. I loved motorcycles.

For once in her life, she let the butterflies in her stomach flutter eternally, hoping that they’d never land on the branches encasing her heart.

enteric nervous system, or ENS. The ENS is how you feel butterflies in your stomach when your mind is anxious. It also carries signals of hunger and satiety up to your brain.

She didn't have butterflies in her stomach; she had unicorns. They ran in circles and charged her insides with their horns, gouging her as they rampaged.

If I start singing the ABC's, could you please remove the mic from my hand?" I said, a sudden fluttering of butterflies taking flight in my stomach

His gaze made the butterflies in my stomach shake off their hibernation and want to remember how to flutter again.

It was like butterflies on meth in his stomach,

My stomach isn’t filled with butterflies, it’s more like thirty raccoons fighting over a footlong hot dog.

kilig (n.) the feeling of butterflies in one’s stomach

It’s going to be fine.” Butterflies swirl in my stomach. “How do you know?” “Because this baby has you as a mom.” My eyes well with tears. “And its father loves its mother so, so

Raul smiles, and I loathe the butterflies it stirs up in my stomach even more than I loathe him. Time to chug an entire can of Raid.

Nevertheless, her stomach was a giddy frolic of crickets and butterflies. He was just so near. And so tall. And so commanding. So male. Everything female in her was rallying to the challenge.

I know I need to put my mouth on those pretty lips and kiss you,” he said with so much conviction, it felt like a swarm of butterflies had been let loose in my stomach. “Do you know that, too?

I wondered if he knew how much I already missed having his mouth on mine, or if he could somehow sense the rash of butterflies taking flight in my stomach at the the mention of the word forever

Holder walks in dressed in a casual white t-shirt and dark denim jeans, his hair freshly washed since our run this morning. As soon as I see him, the stomach virus/hot flashes/butterflies return.

You worry too much. Ginny has butterflies in her stomach from staring at Edgar, that’s all. Maybe she feels a bit out of sorts, but a love affair does that sometimes; it drives you mad for a season.

He was my date. I got a massage, and I must have taken five aspirins to calm myself down. In the restaurant, I saw him from across the room, and I got such butterflies in my stomach and such a thing that went from head to toe. He had like a halo around his head of stars to me. He projected something I have never seen in my life…. when I’m with him I’m in awe, and I don’t know why I can’t snap out of it…. I can’t think. He’s so fascinating….

Every time I think about how he attended my classes so I could hear the lectures firsthand, butterflies take flight in my stomach and swarm my chest. If I wasn’t on pain meds, I’d drink enough alcohol to drown those bitches.

From the moment I said it, I could feel the butterflies in my stomach. My Ryder instincts and my Ryder conscience needed to get it together. One refused to let me back down, while the other condemned my actions in not doing so.

The room had been decked with late-blooming roses that cast up a sugary glasshouse scent. Yet amongst the profusion of china and silver, the atmosphere was one of flamboyance, rather than celebration. Mrs. Croxon announced that we should eat 'exactly the Bill of Fare as given by a most genteel Countess at Bath'. I had no appetite for sardines in mustard, creamed oats and kidneys, for I had a stomach full of butterflies, as my mother had called my fits of nerves.

I’ve been relegated to calling her Ishita, like someone who doesn’t know her, hasn’t spent time with her, hasn’t held her hand or thought about her until the late hours of night with butterflies in my stomach. Like we’re nothing to each other.

I know it's too early for the L-word, and yet it's there, bursting from the seams, begging to be spoken. And as Cooper kisses me good night at the door, I bury the word in the depths of my stomach with the kaleidoscope of butterflies he gives me.

You are the thing that the poets wrote about, you are what the choir of angels is singing about, you are the thing that clouds part above and the sun beams down upon. You’re every butterfly, in every stomach. You’re my every tender thought. “You’re a warm towel when you get out of the shower on a cold night. You’re the tea you hold to your chest when you need a minute to yourself. You’re the feeling you get when you’re inside and safe and dry and it’s dark grey outside and it’s teeming down.

His green eyes always did something to me, as we got older, the butterflies danced their part more wildly in my stomach. It was a comforting but also a scary feeling. If I had known what it meant, I would have felt way more relaxed about those feelings

There was knock on the door and I knew it was Romeo. Butterflies took flight in my stomach as I went to answer. I was so nervous about tonight. Romeo’s eyes widened when I pulled back the door. He whistled beneath his breath. “Holy shit, Smalls.” “Do I look okay?” I worried. “Think your mother will approve?” Romeo reached out and grabbed me by the waist. “You don’t have to impress her. I don’t want or need her approval. You’re my girl. The end.” “No take backs?” I whispered. He smiled. “No take backs.

I didn’t acknowledge his words for a moment because the world had stopped spinning as soon as I met his eyes. Galaxies had less complexity and beauty than the swirling amber and chocolate that battled for dominance in his irises. His sharp jaw and pronounced chin spoke to places deep inside me and filled me with the urge to trace my fingers across them as I drew his lips to mine. Something stronger than butterflies burst to life in my stomach, threatening to tear me apart from the inside if I kept staring at him.

He finally returned my gaze, and held it. A knot lodged in my throat, because he was closer than I expected, and his eyelashes were darker than I expected, and long, and there was a gray rim around the inside of his irises that looked like crowns of storm clouds surrounding a peridot. His gaze made the butterflies in my stomach shake off their hibernation and want to remember how to flutter again. Oh yes, he had to be the main character. Book boyfriend material, once someone fixed him up. But then: Where was his heroine?

Those rose-tinted glasses look good on you, Sunshine.” Sunshine? I was sure he meant that mockingly, but the butterflies in my stomach stirred to life anyway, fanning away my anger. Traitors. “Thanks. You can borrow them. You need them more than I do,” I said pointedly. A low chuckle slipped from his throat, and I almost fell to the floor in shock. Tonight was turning out to be a night of firsts. Alex’s hand trailed up my spine until it rested on the back of my neck, leaving a cascade of tingles in their wake. “I feel it dripping all over me.” He did not—what? An inferno consumed my body. “You’re—you—no, I’m not!” I sputtered, pushing him away and scrambling off him. My core pulsed. Oh my God, what if I was? I couldn’t look, afraid I’d see a telltale wet spot on his jeans. I’d have to move to Antarctica. Build myself an ice cave and learn to speak penguin because I could never show my face in Hazelburg, D.C., or any city where I could run into Alex Volkov again. His chuckle blossomed into a full-blown laugh. The effect of his real smile was so devastating, even amid my mortification, that all I could do was stare at the way his face lit up and the sparkle that transformed his eyes from beautiful to downright breathtaking. Holy crap. Perhaps I should be grateful he never smiled, because if that was what he looked like while doing it…womankind didn’t stand a chance. “I’m talking about your bleeding heart,” he drawled. “What did you think I was talking about?” “I—you—” Forget Antarctica. I had to move to Mars. Alex’s laughter subsided, but the twinkle in his eyes remained.

He makes a small sound like a sigh and grabs my wrists, pulling them higher so they’re locked just over his taut stomach, my entire upper body pressed snugly against his. 'I don’t want to be legally responsible for any accidents,' he says over the hum of the engine.

Whenever you undertake an activity in which public failure is a possibility, you are likely to experience butterflies in your stomach. I mentioned above that since becoming a stoic, I have become a collector of insults. I have also become a collector of butterflies.

You've had ample opportunity to send me up the river… you could've easily gotten me locked up long ago just by opening your mouth. I didn't need to marry you to gain your silence. You've given it to me from the start. If you didn't turn on me then, when you had plenty of reason to, I trust that you won't do it now, ring or no ring. I married you, Karissa, because I love you. Nothing more, nothing less." As many times as he's said those words… I love you… it still makes my stomach flutter to hear them come from him. The butterflies soar. He's not an outwardly emotional person, not at all, so when he says it, I know he means it. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I reach up on my tiptoes and kiss him. His lips are soft, sweet. His tongue tastes like peppermint. "I love you, too, you know." "I know.

If there’s anything you’d like to hear, I’m taking requests. But for now, let’s start with a little Harry Styles.” Butterflies flitted in my stomach as the first chords of “Cherry” smoothed over the crowd, and I found myself singing along, feet bopping under the table.

Those rose-tinted glasses look good on you, Sunshine.” Sunshine? I was sure he meant that mockingly, but the butterflies in my stomach stirred to life anyway, fanning away my anger. Traitors. “Thanks. You can borrow them. You need them more than I do,” I said pointedly. A low chuckle slipped from his throat, and I almost fell to the floor in shock. Tonight was turning out to be a night of firsts. Alex’s hand trailed up my spine until it rested on the back of my neck, leaving a cascade of tingles in their wake. “I feel it dripping all over me.

Can I be Sophie instead of Charlie?" she asked. "I've had lots more practice being her." "I'd rather you were you," he said in a tone that was very far from reassuring, but caused instead a positive flotilla of butterflies to swoop and circle down to the very pit of her stomach.

Mr. Kadam bowed and said, “Miss Kelsey, I will leave you to your dining companion. Enjoy your dinner.” Then he walked out of the restaurant. “Mr. Kadam, wait. I don’t understand.” Dining companion? What is he talking about? Maybe he’s confused. Just then, a deep, all-too-familiar voice behind me said, “Hello, Kells.” I froze, and my heart dropped into my stomach, stirring up about a billion butterflies. A few seconds passed. Or was it a few minutes? I couldn’t tell. I heard a sigh of frustration. “Are you still not talking to me? Turn around, please.” A warm hand slid under my elbow and gently turned me around. I raised my eyes and gasped softly. He was breathtaking! So handsome, I wanted to cry. “Ren.” He smiled. “Who else?” He was dressed in an elegant black suit and he’d had his hair cut. Glossy black hair was swept back away from his face in tousled layers that tapered to a slight curl at the nape of his neck. The white shirt he wore was unbuttoned at the collar. It set off his golden-bronze skin and his brilliant white smile, making him positively lethal to any woman who might cross his path. I groaned inwardly. He’s like…like James Bond, Antonio Banderas, and Brad Pitt all rolled into one. I decided the safest thing to do would be to look at his shoes. Shoes were boring, right? Not attractive at all. Ah. Much better. His shoes were nice, of course-polished and black, just like I would expect. I smiled wryly when I realized that this was the first time I’d ever seen Ren in shoes. He cupped my chin and made me look at his face. The jerk. Then it was his turn to appraise me. He looked me up and down. And not a quick look. He took it all in slowly. The kind of slow that made a girl’s face feel hot. I got mad at myself for blushing and glared at him. Nervous and impatient, I asked, “Are you finished?” “Almost.” He was now staring at my strappy shoes. “Well, hurry up!” His eyes drifted leisurely back up to my face and he smiled at me appreciatively, “Kelsey, when a man spends time with a beautiful woman, he needs to pace himself.” I quirked an eyebrow at him and laughed. “Yeah, I’m a regular marathon alright.” He kissed my fingers. “Exactly. A wise man never sprints…in a marathon.” “I was being sarcastic, Ren.” He ignored me and tucked my hand under his arm then led me over to a beautifully lit table. Pulling the chair out for me, he invited me to sit. I stood there wondering if I could sprint for the nearest exit. Stupid strappy shoes, I’d never make it. He leaned in close and whispered in my ear. “I know what you’re thinking, and I’m not going to let you escape again. You can either take a seat and have dinner with me like a normal date,” he grinned at his word choice, “or,” he paused thoughtfully then threatened, “you can sit on my lap while I force-feed you.” I hissed, “You wouldn’t dare. You’re too much of a gentleman to force me to do anything. It’s an empty bluff, Mr. Asks-For-Permission.” “Even a gentleman has his limits. One way or another, we’re going to have a civil conversation. I’m hoping I get to feed you from my lap, but it’s your choice.” He straightened up again and waited. I unceremoniously plunked down in my chair and scooted in noisily to the table. He laughed softly and took the chair across from me. I felt guilty because of the dress and readjusted my skirt so it wouldn’t wrinkle.

I look over at the man in question and just the sight of him gives me butterflies.  No, not butterflies.  Butterflies don’t quite do the trembling in my gut justice.  These are freaking pterodactyls!!  Huge, bird-like creatures are flapping around in my stomach just by looking at him. 

Fortune-teller tea. Give it a sip!" The liquid was pink and smelled of strawberries, but when Maddie drank it, the flavor was deep and a little bitter, followed by a sudden burst of sweetness. Her father returned. "Well?" he asked. "It started out as black licorice and then melted into butterscotch," she said. "Oh, my girl, the tea is telling you that this is the year to keep your ear to the ground and listen for surprises. Change is coming!" Maddie's stomach was full of thoughts and her head full of butterflies. She checked her watch again. She couldn't wait for it all to begin.

Howie brought her hand to his lips. “You stepped in front of me,” he said in wonder. “I didn’t need you to. I can handle Prudence Morgan.” “But you didn’t.” She tapped his chest. “You stayed quiet for the longest time before responding.” “Quiet is how I handle difficult people….” “You don’t handle me that way.” Her voice came out sounding breathless. Howie slipped his arms around her. “If it were up to me, this is how I’d handle you.” Butterflies danced in her stomach. Not a fearful battering of wings, but a sparkling mating flight, making her heart soar into her throat. “Why isn’t it up to you?

But it wasn't the photograph that caught her attention. It was what was tucked into the frame. Dominic's eyes followed hers. And a tinge of color appeared in his cheeks. Walking over, the butterflies skittering about her stomach, Sylvie reached out and touched the intricate little silhouette portrait of her own face. Her eyes lifted to Dominic's in-the-flesh face, which was currently much stiffer than that paper. "Pet," he said. "She cut a couple of portraits in here one day when we were talking about Operation Cake. Yours and Mariana's." "Yes. I saw Mariana's after you gave it to her." She ran her fingers around the paper contour of her plait, dropped her hand to the desk. "You didn't give me mine, though." "No, I didn't." "Because... we didn't get along? And you wanted to keep Pet's artwork?" "I did want to have some of Pet's art." Dominic's jaw ticked. "And somewhere along the line, I wanted that one in particular." Sylvie swallowed.

You have no idea how important you’ve come to be to me, and I don’t know how to explain it. But I will say that I’m not going anywhere, certainly not because you have a queasy stomach.” And now my stomach is moving again, but with butterflies now. “You say the sweetest things,” I whisper. “I don’t say anything that I don’t mean,

My stomach was so full of butterflies and other insects with busy, brushing wings—entirely appropriate under the circumstances, I couldn’t help but think!—that I could hardly fall asleep. And when at last I did, I know I slept lightly. As if I remembered, even in my slumber, that I had a dream beneath my pillow that I did not wish to crush.

The butterflies were performing circus tricks now, flying through hoops of fire. Lexi had read about infatuation once. Some writer had doused the romantic notion of winged insects. He'd said the funny feeling was simply the motion of common sense fleeing the body. It made more sense, in a world where few things did. Lexi smiled, reveling in the feeling.

Caterpillars wriggle in my stomach, creating an airy, slightly weird sensation. It’s not full-blown butterflies wreaking havoc on my insides, not like I’ve felt with… I shut that line of thinking down. Rogan Kendrick is a non-factor, I tell myself. Besides, butterflies are cute in theory, but when you look closely, they’re really just creepy looking bugs.

Luna moths have no mouths or stomachs. They do not eat, and only live about one week. Where to Find It As soon as the female comes out of the cocoon in April or June, she searches for a tree with leaves her offspring can eat. Many different trees could be food for her caterpillars. So you may find her on walnut, hickory, oak, birch, alder, sweet gum or persimmon trees.

What can I do for you?” I had no idea why he’d want to speak to me, but my heart was thudding and the butterflies in my stomach were going crazy. “Well,” he began. “I was wondering if you’d come to dinner with me.” “Me,” I gasped. Dex chuckled. “Yeah you, Katie.” “Are you sure you mean me?” He full on laughed. “Yeah, darlin’, I do mean you.” “I…I don’t…I’d love to.

How old are you exactly?" The corner of his mouth curved up, the grin so ridiculously sexy it made butterflies take flight in her stomach. "Thirty-two." "Hmm, eight year difference. Not exactly robbing the cradle, but I think I might have to rethink this whole thing between us." She kept her voice light, teasing. He snorted and pinched her butt, making her yelp. "Think all you want, I'm not going anywhere.

She’s Uncle Terry’s sissy.” That crooked grin appeared on his lips. It affected me as much now as it had then. “Yeah, I know who she is, doll.” He looked to me and the look on his face was pure affection. “I’ve known Hadley for a good long while.” My brain gave permission for my stomach to release more butterflies. I wanted to ask him to stop looking at me like that. No, affectionate glances were definitely not allowable.

I have to give you your wedding present,” Marlboro Man said before I could ask where we were going. “I can’t wait a month before I give it to you.” Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. “But…,” I stammered. “I haven’t gotten yours yet.” Marlboro Man clasped my hand, continuing to look forward at the road. “Yes you have,” he said, bringing my hand to his lips and turning me to a pool of melted butter right in his big Ford truck.

If he couldn’t think of anything on his own, he could quote lines from his favorite Prince song, tell her how his stomach trembled, that she had his butterflies all tied up. But he just kissed her. He might keep kissing her forever, not thinking about the consequences or meaning behind anything. She tasted so good and felt so warm, she filled his head to the brink, and when she shifted closer, his brain emptied, and he went spiraling

Before I can think to move, Jeremy lifts his mouth to mine and he kisses me. My fingers dig into his flesh as the sensation of his lips on mine explodes through me. For the first time in my life, my head is quiet. With butterflies rioting in my stomach, blood thrumming through my veins, and my dick taking notice of how close this guy is to me. He groans when I change the angle of the kiss, forcing his mouth open until I can claim it and him.

Love is supposed to be a fire, an all-consuming passion that keeps you up at night. A state of being that drives you crazy because you wake to thoughts of her, and end the day, and end the day with the same. Love is marked by sighs and stars. With songs and butterflies that make your stomach flip and flutter when she looks at you. You feel nervous and excited at the same time. You just want to be near her. You don’t even care if you’re doing anything – just sitting next to her is good enough.

My throat raw with emotion, I said, “I thought love was supposed to be weak knees and butterflies in your stomach and a terrible longing that could never be quenched.” Eeny shook her head, chuckled, came over and embraced me. “No, child,” she said gently, patting my back. “That’s romance. Romance is built on doubt. Love is solid. Constant. If you’re not careful, you might mistake it for bein’ boring because it’s so reliable. Love is warm and deep and comfortable, just right, so you float in it peacefully without ever being scalded or frozen, like a perfect, relaxing bubble bath. “But it’s also fierce and strong and demands all the best parts of you, the parts that are giving and honest and true. Love makes you a better person. It makes you want to be a better person. You know it’s love when you feel comfortable just as you are, when you feel seen and understood, when you know you could tell all your darkest truths and they’d be accepted without judgement.” Eeny pulled away and gently smoothed a hand over my hair. “Love isn’t butterflies, boo. It isn’t weak knees. It’s a pride of lions. It’s a pack of wolves. It’s ‘I’ve got your back even if it costs me my own life,’ because unlike romance that fizzles at the first sign of trouble, love will fight to the death. When it’s love, you’ll go to war to avenge even the slightest offense. And you’ll be justified. “Because of all the marvelous and terrible things we can experience in this life, love is the only one that will last beyond it.

His face was no longer hidden in shadows, and I found myself gazing into a pair of steel gray eyes that looked at me with such intensity I almost forgot to breathe. Mutely I stared at him while my stomach twisted with a sensation I could not put into words, and I felt a touch against the back of my mind like the flutter of butterfly wings. I experienced the strangest sense of recognition, though I knew I had never seen him before, and deep inside me something stirred like a cat uncurling from a long nap. The

I love you too,” she replied, her breath catching in her throat. She realized then that she always had. She couldn’t remember falling in love with Matt. She hadn’t had the butterflies in her stomach, the giddy absorption of falling in love. It hadn’t been like that. She’d just seen him, and suddenly it had all clicked into place. She’d always been in love with him, and had been quietly, patiently, waiting for him to turn up. Perhaps once there had been a time when she wasn’t tied to him with every molecule of her being, but it was so long ago it was impossible to remember.

I told her I was going to the dance with you instead." Violet thought her heart was going to burst. It was exactly what she'd wanted to hear for weeks, maybe even for months. But she wasn't about to let him off the hook that easily for his devious little game. "Sorry," she offered with mock sincerity. "I have a date already. Besides, I don't remember you asking me." He narrowed his eyes at her, as if daring her to argue the point. "I'm your date. Grady can go to hell, for all I care. Maybe Lissie'll go with him and he can paw on her all night." They were nose to nose, and mouth to mouth. Violet was intrigued by this side of him...the confident, no-nonsense side, refusing to take no for an answer. She leaned forward and sighed as her lips barely brushed against his. "Fine," she exhaled in sham defeat. "I'll go to the dance with you...on one condition." His lips moved into a smile right against hers. "Anything." She gazed into his eyes as she licked her lips, purposely touching his lower lip with her tongue. That simple contact released a million nervous butterflies within the pit of her stomach. "Tell me what you and my dad were talking about.

Then she did something that really surprised me. She blinked back tears and put out her arms. I stepped forward and hugged her. Butterfly started turning my stomach into a mosh pit. “Hey… it’s okay,” I patted her back. I was aware of everything in the room. I felt like I could read the tiniest print on any book on the shelves. Annabeth’s hair smelled like lemon soap. She was shivering. […] Annabeth rubbed her eyes. “You go ahead, Percy. I’d better get ready for archery.” I nodded, feeling more confused than I ever had in my life. I wanted to run from the cabin… but then again, I didn’t.

By the time Marlboro Man walked in the door, I was stirring in the canned kidney beans and minutes away from throwing up. “Mmmm…smells good,” he said. He walked over to the stove and wrapped his arms around my waist, resting his palms on my belly. “How are you, Mama?” he asked. Butterflies went crazy in my stomach. He did it for me, even when cumin was making me sick. “I’m better today,” I said, focusing on my physical condition. “How are you?” “I’m good,” he said. “I’m worried about you, though.” His hands caressed my ribs, my arms, my sides. He touched me all the time; physical indifference was never a problem with Marlboro Man.

There was a trembling tightness around his diaphragm, as though something struggled for release or escape there. He knew the phrase "butterflies in your stomach," but is one of those people to whom phrases like that communicate nothing. He has had butterflies in his stomach as he'd had the willies, and the jitters; more than once he has been beside himself; but has always thought these experiences were his alone, and never knew they were so common as to have names. His ignorance allowed him to compose poetry about the weird feelings he felt, a handful of typewritten pages which as soon as he was dressed in the neat black suit he put carefully into the green canvas knapsack. . .

He thought about how exuberant he himself used to feel as he got ready to meet Miriam when they first started courting. Butterflies flew in his stomach as he washed, shaved, slicked back his hair with a comb and smear of Brylcreem. He made sure that his suit and shirt were pressed, his shoes were buffed. He would put his comb in his pocket and whistle as he walked to meet her. There was an ice cream parlor where they would sit in the window and drink lemonade with a blob of vanilla floating on top, or they sometimes went to the cinema. At that time a trainee, he didn’t have much money so he would save up all week just in case Miriam wanted to go for a nice meal, but she was happy to go for a walk with him and with their simple dates.

My throat raw with emotion, I said, “I thought love was supposed to be weak knees and butterflies in your stomach and a terrible longing that could never be quenched.” Eeny shook her head, chuckled, came over and embraced me. “No, child,” she said gently, patting my back. “That’s romance. Romance is built on doubt. Love is solid. Constant. If you’re not careful, you might mistake it for bein’ boring because it’s so reliable. Love is warm and deep and comfortable, just right, so you float in it peacefully without ever being scalded or frozen, like a perfect, relaxing bubble bath. “But it’s also fierce and strong and demands all the best parts of you, the parts that are giving and honest and true. Love makes you a better person. It makes you want to be a better person. You know it’s love when you feel comfortable just as you are, when you feel seen and understood, when you know you could tell all your darkest truths and they’d be accepted without judgement.” Eeny pulled away and gently smoothed a hand over my hair. “Love isn’t butterflies, boo. It isn’t weak knees. It’s a pride of lions. It’s a pack of wolves. It’s ‘I’ve got your back even if it costs me my own life,’ because unlike romance that fizzles at the first sign of trouble, love will fight to the death. When it’s love, you’ll go to war to avenge even the slightest offense. And you’ll be justified. “Because of all the marvelous and terrible things we can experience in this life, love is the only one that will last beyond it.

It’s so cute, isn’t it?” Arianna said dreamily. “Are we seeing the same creature? It’s like a demented goat with a bone growth.” “You’re going to hurt its feelings! Now shut up and sit on the ground.” I did as I was told, sticking my ankle out. “How is it going to heal me?” I asked, suddenly nervous. I pictured it licking my ankle and gagged. I could only imagine the diseases unicorn saliva had or what it carried around in its filthy, matted beard and hair. Bleating reproachfully, it stared at me with its doleful, square-pupiled brown eyes. “Oh, fine. Great, glorious unicorn, beloved of oblivious girls everywhere, please heal me. Now, if you don’t mind.” With one last bat of its gunk-crusted eyelashes, it lowered its head and put its stubby horn against my ankle. I cringed, waiting for pain, but felt instead tingling warmth spread out, almost like having butterflies in my stomach. Only in my ankle. Butterflies . . . with rainbows. The feeling of wholeness and well-being spread up my leg and into my entire body, and I couldn’t stop grinning. The forest was beautiful! The tree branches, naked against the brightening sky, held unimaginable wonders. The hard-packed dirt beneath me was a treasure trove of unrealized potential, lovely for what it could eventually give life to. I could sit out here forever and just enjoy nature. I was so happy! And rainbows! Why did I keep thinking of rainbows? Who cared! Rainbows were totally awesome! And the unicorn! I beamed at it, reaching out my hand to stroke it. There was never a creature more beautiful, more majestic. I’d spend the rest of my life out here, and we’d prance around the forest, worship the sunlight, bathe in the moonlight, and . . . I shook my head, scattering the idiotic warm fuzzies that had invaded. “Whoa,” I said, shoving the unicorn’s head away. “That’s enough of that.” I looked down at my ankle, which was now completely healed, not even a scar left. I fixed a stern look on the unicorn. “I am not going to frolic in an eternal meadow of sunshine and moonlight with you, you rotten little fink. But thanks.” I smiled, just enough to be nice without being too encouraging, and patted it quickly on the head. I was going to soak that hand in bleach. “Okay, let’s get out of here.” I stood, testing my ankle and relieved with the utter lack of pain. I still had an irrational desire to do an interpretive dance about rainbows, but it was a small price to pay for being healed.

Zach leans over and whispers on my lips, “Cleopatra. That’s your name, right?” I swallow against the onslaught of emotions. I feel the savage flapping of the butterflies in my stomach and I press my belly against him to make him feel it too. Make him feel all these crazy, intense emotions inside of me. “But hardly anyone calls me that.” A lopsided smile as he traces my cheek with a thumb. “Do you know Cleopatra was an Egyptian queen?” I nod. “Yeah. My mom used to tell me that she was the most beautiful woman of her time.” “People are crazy, aren’t they?” I clutch his dark t-shirt at his waist. “Why?” “They don’t know what they’re talking about. One look at you and they would’ve snatched away her crown and laid it down at your feet.” The shudder that goes through me is the biggest one yet. He called me beautiful. Beautiful.

After Tom leaves for work, I take Evie to the park, we play on the swings and the little wooden rocking horses, and when I put her back into her buggy she falls asleep almost immediately, which is my cue to go shopping. We cut through the back streets towards the big Sainsbury’s. It’s a bit of a roundabout way of getting there, but it’s quiet, with very little traffic, and in any case we get to pass number thirty-four Cranham Road. It gives me a little frisson even now, walking past that house—butterflies suddenly swarm in my stomach, and a smile comes to my lips and colour to my cheeks. I remember hurrying up the front steps, hoping none of the neighbours would see me letting myself in, getting myself ready in the bathroom, putting on perfume, the kind of underwear you put on just to be taken off. Then I’d get a text message and he’d be at the door, and we’d have an hour or two in the bedroom upstairs.

Dex gasped, his back arching at the feel of strong hands kneading his ass cheeks, pushing them apart as the head of his lover’s slick cock aligned itself then pushed in slowly, the pressure both painful and exhilarating. God, it had been too long. Dex palmed his erection as he was entered, his lover burying deep inside him inch by inch. Hard muscles pressed up against his back, lowering Dex onto the mattress, his breath coming out ragged as his lover buried himself to the root and started rotating his hips, drawing out then pushing back in painfully slow. Dex moaned, his stomach filled with butterflies, the anticipation building like nothing he’d ever felt before. His whole body was on fire, and he writhed with need beneath the deliciously heavy weight. He couldn’t remember Lou feeling like this. Had it always felt this damn good? Dex moaned when lips pressed against his skin beneath his ear. “Easy there, Rookie.” Dex’s

So,” Cole says. “Did you decide on a name yet?” Before I can answer, everyone starts speaking at once. “You should name him Jace after your favorite brother.” Cole shoots Jace a dirty look. “You should name him Cole after your good-looking brother.” Dylan gives me a rueful grin. “Dylan is a great boy’s name, too. Just saying.” Sawyer nudges her in the ribs. “So is Sawyer.” Oakley and I exchange a humorous glance. “Okay,” Oakley declares, rubbing his hands together. “The bidding starts at fifty dollars.” After pulling out his wallet, Jace slaps some money on the tray table. “I got a hundred for Jace, right here.” Cole shoves some bills into Oakley’s hands. “I got two hundred for Cole.” Wayne reaches inside his pocket. “Do you take credit?” “Sorry, Pops. Cash only.” Fanning the money in his hand, Oakley looks around the room. “Any more takers?” Dylan pulls some money out of her bra. “Yup. Four hundred for Dylan.” “Well, I didn’t bring my checkbook with me.” Smiling smugly, Sawyer pats her stomach. “But we are having a girl and a boy. Perhaps we can work out an exchange.” Jace glowers. “That’s not fair.” “It’s called bartering, bro.” Reaching over, Cole high-fives his wife. “And that right there is just one reason I love you so much, Bible Thumper. You’re so fucking smart.” Oakley’s shoveling the money into his wallet when a nurse waltzes in. “Hi, Bianca. I’m the lactation nurse. Do you think you’re ready to try breastfeeding yet?” Jace makes a face. “And that’s my cue to leave.” Cole shakes his head. “Not me. I’m not leaving until I know my nephew’s name is Cole.” I’m shifting to get into a more comfortable position when I notice the blue, green, orange, and purple butterflies scattered across the nurse’s scrubs. My chest swells and I look over at Oakley who’s smiling. There’s only one name that feels right. “Liam,” we whisper at the same time.

Drake: "I know it;s love because I think of you night and day. I miss you when you are sitting right next to me. When I look at you my heart races and my stomach turns in the best and worst way possible. When I'm with you I feel complete, I feel whole. When I'm away from you it;s hard to breathe. When I think of my life without you I panic and tears fill my eyes. Before I met you, I didn't think I had much of a future besides being CEO at Baylor. I look at you, Morgan, and am filled with beautiful optimism at all of the things my future could have, and that is because i see you right there with me. I want to marry you, Morgan, I want to have children with you. You are my best friend, my confidant, my everything. To me that's love. You say you love me, Morgan, is that how you feel?" I ask hopefully. "Yes," Morgan says, as a confident smile crosses her face and tears fill her eyes. "Yes, that is exactly how I feel. I love you, Drake, you are my everything,

I spent another sleepless night in my apartment and in the early hours of the morning I snuck once more into my little kitchen, to prepare a huge torta di ricotta. I needed a cheesecake: it was the only thing that could give me the peace of mind I craved. Had I been too hasty in offering to give l'Inglese lessons? I asked myself, as I ground green almonds with my pestle. The power of my wrist quickly turned the almonds to powder. If only I could grind my worries away as easily. I beat the ricotta, egg yolks, honey, sugar, lemon juice, and rind into the almonds. I beat and beat and beat the mixture until a sweat formed on my brow and my body began to glow with warmth. Even then I did not stop beating. I welcomed the exhaustion that began to creep up on me: I could feel the healing power of my cooking. Really I knew nothing about l'Inglese. Nothing at all. Except that everything about him spelled danger to an inexperienced woman like me. I was afraid of him, yet could not bear the thought of not seeing him again. I was always thinking of him, imagining our next meeting: amusing myself with every possible scenario. I whisked the egg whites into peaks in a matter of seconds. I reasoned that I had been right to speak out to him when I did. I knew how I would have hated myself if I had let the moment slip by. I knew how wretched and foolish I would have felt at my impotence, and yet this turbulence inside me was almost as bad. Acrobatic butterflies fluttered in my stomach, however much I tried to feed them into submission. When the torta had baked to a golden, angel-scented crust, and after waiting impatiently for it to cool, I helped myself to a large slice with a thick dollop of cream. Ooh, it was good. I mopped up every crumb from the plate with my finger. Then I switched out the lights and climbed back into bed. I resigned myself to the thought that what was done could not be undone and drifted into a lemon-flavored sleep.

When I woke up, Cat had already left but there was a text from Mike, asking me if I wanted to meet him in the lobby for breakfast. I felt gross and hungover, not to mention all of the butterflies in my stomach from the thought of just being near him, so I wasn’t sure I could handle keeping up a conversation all by myself. I wrote back Sure and then immediately texted Whitney and asked her to meet us so I wouldn’t have to be alone with him. When I arrived, they were bright and awake and alert, and I felt like a total zombie next to them. They teased me about my constant groaning about how sick I felt. But the truth was that my stomach butterflies were brought on more by how strange I felt around Mike. He seemed totally fine, like nothing had happened last night, but I kept stealing glances at him and thinking, You were my first kiss! In the light of day, it was hard for me to fully accept, because even though I was finally able to talk about my feelings with my friends and Nicole, I was still partially removed from that part of myself. We

A late yellow butterfly hovering past caught at his attention, and he watched it dance downward and settle on a dusty stem of shepherd's purse beside the way. And for a sort of gleam of time, he seemed to see it not only with his eyes, but with all of himself, the delicate veining of the yellow wings that quivered and half-closed and fanned open again, the dark velvety nap on the butterfly's slender body, the gray-green heart-shaped seedpods of the shepherd's purse, stirring in the stray breath of wind, sharing with the butterfly the last warmth of the autumn sun, and the shadow of both tangled in the hillside grass. Part of him longed to catch the butterfly, to hold it very carefully prisoned in his cupped hands and feel the life of it there and the flutter of its wings against his hollowed palms, as though in that way he could keep the small, shining moment from escaping. He had tried that once, when he was much younger, but the butterfly had turned broken and dead in his hands, and he had killed the moment and the shine and the beauty instead of keeping it, and been left with nothing but an empty feeling of desolation in his stomach because he could not mend the butterfly again.

He rolled her on the bed and turned so he could look at her. ‘Are you hurt?’ His stomach lurched in the seconds it took her to answer. ‘I’m happy.’ She opened her eyes and looked at him shyly. ‘I’m glad for this. I’m glad that it was you.’ Her tiger’s eyes glowed in vibrant gold and green. A surge of possessiveness clawed at him, like talons around his heart. He had wild thoughts about taking her with him. They could keep on running, accountable to no one but each other. She’d never have to marry a man she didn’t want. But that was what his life had always been. Ailey needed more. She needed honour, tradition and family. Yet she’d chosen him. She’d given herself without reservation. The knowledge stunned him. It made him believe that he could be more. He kissed her. It was the only way to stop thinking. He was never a thinking man anyway. He kissed her again, then released her lips to move his mouth over her breast, sliding his tongue over her nipple, sucking gently until he could feel her squirm beneath him. He ran his hands over her satiny skin until her breath caught and she whispered his name, her breath fanning soft against his ear. He had never gone hard so quickly. When he entered her moments later, she closed around him and he moved within her, lifting and lowering as he waited for the dark pleasure to overcome him. But it wouldn’t. Not completely. Through the slick heat and the unbelievable tightness gripping him, Ailey was there. When he shut his eyes, he saw her face. Mine, he thought as the blood rushed through his skull. For as long as she would have him. To the ends of the earth if she needed him there.

I’m wondering what it would be like to be kissed by you.” “Let’s not go there,” he said. “I don’t want to mess up our friendship.” “It wouldn’t,” she said, grinning suddenly. “I’d like to know how it feels. I mean, as an experiment.” “Put the wrong chemicals together, and they explode.” She frowned. “Are you saying you don’t think I’d like it? Or that I would?” “It doesn’t matter, because I’m not going to kiss you.” She looked up at him shyly, from beneath lowered lashes, and gave him a cajoling smile. “Just one teeny, weeny little kiss?” He laughed at her antics. Inside his stomach, about a million butterflies had taken flight. “Don’t play games with me, Summer.” He said it with a smile, but it was a warning. One she ignored. She crooked her finger and wiggled it, gesturing him toward her. “Come here, and give me a little kiss.” She was doing something sultry with her eyes, something she’d never done before. She’d turned on some kind of feminine heat, because he was burning up just looking at her. “Stop this,” he said in a guttural voice. She canted her hip and put her hand on it, drawing his attention in that direction, then slid her tongue along the seam of her lips to wet them. “I’m ready, bad boy. What are you waiting for?” His heart was beating a hundred miles a minute. He was hot and hard and ready. And if he touched her, he was going to ruin everything. “I’m not going to kiss you, Summer.” He saw the disappointment flash in her eyes. Saw the determination replace it. “All right. I’ll kiss you.” He could have stopped her. He was the one with the powerful arms and the broad chest and the long, strong legs. But he wanted that kiss. “Fine,” he said. “Don’t expect fireworks. I’m only doing this because we’re friends.” And if she believed that, he had some desert brushland he could sell her. Suddenly, she seemed uncertain, and he felt a pang of loss. Silly to feel it so deeply, when kissing Summer had been the last thing he’d allowed himself to dream about. Although, to be honest, he hadn’t always been able to control his dreams. She’d been there, all right. Hot and wet and willing. He made himself smile at her. “Don’t worry, kid. It was a bad idea. To be honest, I value our friendship too much—” She threw herself into his arms, clutching him around the neck, so he had to catch her or get bowled over. “Whoa, there,” he said, laughing and hugging her with her feet dangling in the air. “It doesn’t matter that you’ve changed your mind about wanting that kiss. I’m just glad to be your friend.” She leaned back in his embrace, searching his eyes, looking for something. Before he could do or say anything to stop her, she pressed her lips softly against his. His whole body went rigid. “Billy,” she murmured against his lips. “Please. Kiss me back.” “Summer, I don’t—” She pressed her lips against his again, damp and pliant and inviting. He softened his mouth against hers, felt the plumpness of her upper lip, felt the open, inviting seam, and let his tongue slide along the length of it. “Oh.” She broke the kiss and stared at him with dazed eyes. Eyes that sought reason where there was none. He wanted to rage at her for ruining everything. They could never be friends now. Not now that he’d tasted her, not now that she’d felt his want and his need. He lowered his head to take her mouth, to take what he’d always wanted.

I looked around and realized we were headed down a different road than Marlboro Man would normally take. “I have to give you your wedding present,” Marlboro Man said before I could ask where we were going. “I can’t wait a month before I give it to you.” Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. “But…,” I stammered. “I haven’t gotten yours yet.” Marlboro Man clasped my hand, continuing to look forward at the road. “Yes you have,” he said, bringing my hand to his lips and turning me to a pool of melted butter right in his big Ford truck. We wound through several curves in the road, and I tried to discern whether I’d been there before. My sense of direction was lousy; everything looked the same to me. Finally, just as the sun was dipping below the horizon, we came upon an old barn. Marlboro Man pulled up beside it and parked. Confused, I looked around. He got me a barn? “What…what are we doing here?” I asked. Marlboro Man didn’t answer. Instead, he just turned off the pickup, turned to me…and smiled. “What is it?” I asked as Marlboro Man and I exited the pickup and walked toward the barn. “You’ll see,” he replied. He definitely had something up his sleeve. I was nervous. I always hated opening gifts in front of the person who gave them to me. It made me uncomfortable, as if I were sitting in a dark room with a huge spotlight shining on my head. I squirmed with discomfort. I wanted to turn and run away. Hide in his pickup. Hide in the pasture. Lie low for a few weeks. I didn’t want a wedding present. I was weird that way. “But…but…,” I said, trying to back out. “But I don’t have your wedding present yet.” As if anything would have derailed him at that point. “Don’t worry about that,” Marlboro Man replied, hugging me around the waist as we walked. He smelled so good, and I inhaled deeply. “Besides, we can share this one.” That’s strange, I thought. Any fleeting ideas I’d had that he’d be giving me a shiny bracelet or sparkly necklace or other bauble suddenly seemed far-fetched. How could he and I share the same tennis bracelet? Maybe he got me one of those two-necklace sets, the ones with the halved hearts, I thought, and he’ll wear one half and I’ll wear the other. I couldn’t exactly picture it, but Marlboro Man had never been above surprising me. Then again, we were walking toward a barn.

The perfect girl what can I say; to be so close yet, feel miles away. I want to run to her, but have to walk out the door going the other way. The only words spoken to her are- ‘Have a nice day.’ I think about her and the summer, and what it could have been with her. It reminds me of- sixteen, you are on my mind all the time. I think about you. It is like a vision of the stars shining, ribbon wearing, bracelet making, and holding hands forever. All the sunflowers in the hayfields and kissing in the rain, no more brick walls, no more falling teardrops of pain, and no more jigsaw puzzle pieces would remain. True love should not be such a game; does she feel the same. She is everything that I cannot have, and everything I lack. What if every day could be like this- Diamond rings, football games, and movies on the weekends? It is easy to see she belongs to me; she is everything that reminds me of ‘sixteen’ everything that is in my dreams. Everything she does is amazing, but then again, I am just speculating, and fantasizing about Nevaeh Natalie, who just turned the age of sixteen! Nevaeh- I recall my first boy kiss was not at all, what I thought it was going to be like. I was wearing a light pink dress, and flip-flops that were also pink with white daisy flowers printed on them. I loosened my ponytail and flipped out my hair until my hair dropped down my back, and around my shoulders. That gets A guy going every time, so I have read online. He was wearing ripped-up jeans and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt. He said that- ‘My eyes sparkled in blue amazement, which was breathtaking, that he never saw before.’ Tell me another line… I was thinking, while Phil Collins ‘Take Me Home’ was playing in the background. I smiled at him, he began to slowly lean into me, until our lips locked. So, enjoy, he kissed me, and my heart was all aflutter. When it happened, I felt like I was floating, and my stomach had butterflies. My eyes fastened shut with no intentions of me doing so during the whole thing. When my eyes unfastened my feelings of touch engaged, and I realized that his hands are on my hips. His hands slowly moved up my waist, and my body. I was trembling from the exhilaration. Plus, one thing led to another. It was sort of my first time, kissing and playing with him you know a boy, oh yet not really, I had gotten to do some things with Chiaz before like, in class as he sat next to me. I would rub my hand on it under the desks- yeah, he liked that, and he would be. Oh, how could I forget this… there was this one time in the front seat of his Ford pickup truck, we snuck off… and this was my first true time gulping down on him, for a lack of a better term. As I had my head in his lap and was about to move up for him to go in me down there, I was about to get on top and let him in me. When we both heard her this odd, yet remarkably loud scream of bloody murder! Ava was saying- ‘You too were going to fuck! What the fuck is going on here? Anyways, Ava spotted us before he got to ‘Take me!

Love, as she knew it, did not make a person feel vulnerable and defenseless, or generate confusion, or send butterflies in one's stomach! It didn't make one want to laugh and cry at the same time, or feel annoyed and excited in a flash, or want to inflict pain or care for someone simultaneously. It didn't make one despise oneself for responding to a kiss like that, wanting it to end, and yet feeling such unbearable longing and yearning for it, needing it to go on and on and on. Love, she admonished herself firmly, doesn't make one do or feel those things.

These butterflies have rushed up from my stomach to my chest and have taken shelter there. I know, without a single doubt, that they aren't going anywhere.

Elias’s expression is twisted into a scowl, and for a moment my heart stops, unsure what he's got planned. But then he drags me into a forceful kiss, his mouth crashing onto mine. Butterflies burst in my stomach, batting their wings wildly. I can't breathe. I'm letting a demon kiss me. But my body seems to respond on its own, and I grasp his shirt and haul him closer, kissing him back. He claims my tongue into his mouth as my knees wobble beneath me. He is huge, towering over me while I push myself onto tippy toes to reach him easier.  I close my eyes and let myself float on the promise he makes in his kiss. Strong hands dig into my back as his hold tightens. Our tongues tangle, and this wicked, taboo kiss is wrong, but I can’t stop myself. "You smell and taste so good," he murmurs against my mouth when he finally pulls away. I breathe out slowly, lowering myself back onto my heels. As I come back into my senses, a thread of embarrassment crawls over my cheeks that I let myself fall so easily for his charm. “We need to go.” Suddenly, he seizes my hand and storms back through the myriad of corridors with me by his side. It’s like the reality of our kiss has hit him as well. I have no doubt he's dragging me back to my room, intent on locking me away. The truth of what just happened sinks through me too. We are different, and I'm not here to find a boyfriend. He’s my captor. Still… when he kissed me, it was like he was someone starved, and I was everything he needed. There’s something extremely attractive to having a man want me in that way, especially one that looks as rugged and handsome as Elias. I’m lucky if guys look at me in the first place; I’ve never snagged the attention of an Adonis-looking one. And now my lips are swollen and bruised, my underwear drenched.

She met his eyes, fully conscious of the heat sweeping up her neck. It was impossible to remain composed under such circumstances. Not when he was looking at her so intently. Not when the butterflies in her stomach were unfurling their wings and soaring into flight. Good gracious. Was it possible to swoon from the mere mention of kissing?

Date: 27th of Feb, 2021 What is Love ? Is it something you feel, vibe or exhibit ? Or is it in caring, sharing or sacrifices L.O.V.E Love is in small details, everywhere around, the sun loves the sky amidst it colours, the sky loves the clouds inspite of its darkness, the darkness loves the light inspite of its own capabilities to lighten, Love is not something that can be talked or explained, but then what am i trying to do so?? Weird. Despite the running thoughts right now i have to share what i feel before that thought would never strike again (Ps: You are a constant thought that runs in my mind) For me what love really is ! For me, love is a gift, that feeling is magical, being in that feeling is lucky, Love is not something you fall for, how can u fall in love, when you feel embraced and butterflies, in your stomach you are actually lifted in love, you are actually strong when you love. You admire the person with all its possibilities to be with her and its goodness and makeup your mind about the righteous of the person and imagine and day dreaming of being with them. That's the first sip. Love is true, when you demand no change and when u accept her the way she is with all her negativity and positivity, with her moods and habits, accepting and going with her choices, supporting her beyond the support you expect from her, pushing yourself to make efforts to see her smile, taking her stand in public, respecting her thoughts despite having different opinions. love is not about being right every time about everything, its about making her feel right about things that are not, its about sacrificing your thoughts to hear hers, its about sacrificing your last bite to look her smile, its about starring into your partner eyes and talk without a word, holding hands until you go home, hold her mood until she's back, and being insecured about her safety until she's home This is the only feeling that makes me feel special, its the only feeling that helps me finds happiness in sacrificing too, That's the only feeling that lifts my mood by seeing her or motivating her when i m having a bad day, its tough though sometimes, love can make you think for possibilities and impossibilities that may never occur and give you a hard time, sometimes you push yourself and them away. But cannot really stay away, then why do we do that, Sharing of emotions will be the best part of the journey of love You don't shy accepting, being in love, coz not everybody is lucky to have it, You embrace it, You love being in Love ❤️ but then why do they not talk about love Its a complex simple feeling. 05:19 AM (the moon was still so pretty)