Jun 2, 2017
You kiss me softly like you are using your tongue to write poetry on top of my soul.
Caprica Ortiz in "Finding Gideon" by Eric Jerome Dickey
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from Portugal
seen from United States
seen from Sweden
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from Australia
seen from India
seen from United States
seen from Thailand
seen from United States
seen from Thailand
seen from Thailand
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Thailand
seen from United States
seen from United States
You kiss me softly like you are using your tongue to write poetry on top of my soul.
Caprica Ortiz in "Finding Gideon" by Eric Jerome Dickey
THE WEEK IN REVIEW: "What Happened to Monday?" (JANUARY 26TH – February 1st)
THE WEEK IN REVIEW: “What Happened to Monday?” (JANUARY 26TH – February 1st)
I decided that I would do a weekly recap, and link up with The Sunday Post, which is a weekly meme hosted by Kimba @ hosted by Caffeinated Book Reviewer. It’s a post to recap the past week, showcase books and things we have received and share news about what is coming up for the week on our blog.
On Sunday, my friends and I celebrated Danielle’s birthday with a brunch. It was really great, but…
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Friends close. Enemies closer. And family closer than close.
"Finding Gideon"
A moment from FG
Arizona: "I lowered my wall for you, Gideon."
Gideon: "From the moment I first saw you, I used to dream about you. All I wanted was you. I tore down my wall for you. Now it's been rebuilt."
How you grow up can put calluses on your soul.
“Finding Gideon”
This is about competence. Incompetence has no gender. Incompetence is incompetence.
“Finding Gideon”
Doing as told my the druid, the demon appeared a block from Kasey's most often used home. So, it was a little recon he had to do, much to his reluctance.
The demon would find an unlocked door leading into an empty house that looked like it hadn't been used in months. There was a decent layer of dust built up on nearly every surface, the thermostat set to a modest 20°C. The faintest scent of sulfur might have been just barely sniffed out by even a werewolf's keen nose.Gideon's keys were still hanging neatly on the hooks near the door. A few dishes sat in a drainer by the sink in the kitchen. In the dormouse's bedroom, the only signs of any sort of struggle were the ajar door, a blanket tossed about and the sheet undone on one corner. Gideon definitely wasn't here. The sulfur smell was heavier here, mixed with a smell Mason would be all too familiar with, death.