Marble isn't as bad as you might think. He can't speak, but when you brush your fingers across his lips in the sunlight, he's as warm as any human. His strong stone arms won't ever push away. Having no heart to speak of, he will never break yours.
She lay upon the cold, marble floor. She kissed it, taking in the germs and bacteria left in traces by the millions of feet passing over it every day. Oh, how it reminded her of Edward.
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"I wath playin' and I thought id be fun to thtick the marble up my nose," Ben replied, somewhat proud of his accomplishment.
"Did your thith-" Mom groaned, realizing she'd picked up her son's lisp again, and started over, "Did you sister put you up to this?"
From the other room came a high-pitched, insistent (definitely lying), "Noooo."
Ben shifted his eyes, "Yeth," he answered sheepishly. "But I thtill did it mythelf! It wath haaard."
"I bet," Mom sighed.
((vignette from practically everyone's childhood))
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