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Innocence eroded into nightmare. All because of very bad touch. Love, corrupted.

Ellen Hopkins

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Ellen Hopkins
Age: 69
Born: 1955
Born: March 26
Novelist
Writer
Long Beach
California
Ellen Louise Hopkins
Corrupted
Nightmare
Innocence
Touch
Love
Eroded

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This time when we kiss, I feel it in the pit of my stomach, I feel it in my heart. And I realize love isn't about sex. It's about connection.
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I write books for young adults because I truly connect with them on some very deep level. They are our hope, our future, and inspiring them to be the best they can be is very important to me.
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I nod, because I do understand. I'm just not sure how to go about divorcing myself from the evil I've already accepted.
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My priest tells me i should not date a mormon but im just too in love with you that i'm willing to take risks
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Anger is easier than forgiveness.
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Is it wrong to leave relative security in favor of unknown risk at the side of someone you love?
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I want to open myself, let him inside. But how do I give what has already been taken?
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It is hard to believe that something that seems so permanent was once so different. Change. I guess that really is one thing you can count on.
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Grown up? Me? I suppose I have. Killing things, and almost killing myself, must have changed me some, after all.
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When the door to love opens, The window to control closes.
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But then, my entire life is bullshit. The best things in it have vanished, ghosts. Ghosts I'll admit I created.
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I'd like to cry now. Don't know how.
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Love is Chocolate The unprocessed kind. Dark. Bitter. But always with the promise of sweet perfection. All it takes is sugar- that certain someone's kiss, flavored with possibility. If Dani has taught me anything, it's that life is brimming with possibilities. Every single day brings choices.
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When all else fails, dream bigger.
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I tattered their wings and tore off their legs, joint by joint, watched them crawl in circles, like little lost infants, untill they decide to die.
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Have to Find ...life ...is ...a— ...gamble ...after ...all.
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Maybe Life is random. No fate. No God. Just Time.
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Something stirred beneath my skin, some being inside I'd only suspected existed, demon or angel, I couldn't say.
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Can a dream be wrong? Aren't dreams God's way of telling you things?
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Our meeting, touching, accidentally connecting immediately, interwoven hand-in-hand, heart-to-heart.
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