Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight; I don't.

But my words are my own.



The sleep isn't even wiped from my eyes when I grab my iPhone and press the home button.

I unconsciously swipe my thumb across the screen until seeing the big white "f" with sky blue background.

Relief floods me; this is my fix—my lifeline to the outside world.

I reason it's better than my morning cup of coffee, my late-afternoon drink, or maybe even sex.

I scroll first through posts revealing people's W's: their whats, wheres and whens.

I tap onto who's on and await the comfort of my favorites.

And for the first time ever he wasn't there.


Review me your thoughts.

Thank you to my wonderful beta, Chayasara.

Thank you for reading.