POST HOLIDAY RE-RUN: Jillian Hart

IF I COULD WAKE UP DREAMING

Ms. Jillian B. Hart

He will forever be the one that got away.  The one that slipped through her fingers.  The thing that movies are made about and that words are helpless to describe.  The emotion that has to be felt to be known.  Felt to be understood - and feeling it, only leaves the soul hungry for more.  

A love that was so right - it was almost incomprehensible and seemingly was always just within their reach.  The awe of it being unnerving, until it became unattainable.  She didn’t find someone that she love that much only to let it go.  She held onto it.  Even all those years that he was gone, all those years her life went on, knowing the love never left her.  The memory of it dwelled within the fibers of her being.  It became part of who she was and she was never quite the same.  It always existed, locked away in her heart like a box with a missing key. 

IF I COULD WAKE UP DREAMING

Ms. Jillian B. Hart

He will forever be the one that got away.  The one that slipped through her fingers.  The thing that movies are made about and that words are helpless to describe.  The emotion that has to be felt to be known.  Felt to be understood - and feeling it, only leaves the soul hungry for more.  

A love that was so right - it was almost incomprehensible and seemingly was always just within their reach.  The awe of it being unnerving, until it became unattainable.  She didn’t find someone that she love that much only to let it go.  She held onto it.  Even all those years that he was gone, all those years her life went on, knowing the love never left her.  The memory of it dwelled within the fibers of her being.  It became part of who she was and she was never quite the same.  It always existed, locked away in her heart like a box with a missing key. 

BABY, IT'S COLD OUTSIDE

Ms. Jillian B. Hart

As twilight fell the light snow was still dancing in the cold northern wind.  The clouds hung low and grey still threatening to once again devour the panorama before him in the depths of winter white.  The cold wet, sweeping through his hair and chilling his skin as he heaved the shovel and tossed the heavy snow on the growing mound.  The sparkling powder was packed and the enormity of excavating a path was exhausting.  His muscles were pumped and aching as the winter wind blew bitter around him.  

His footsteps disappearing behind him in the new falling snow as he anxiously marched through the bone chilling air towards the warm light waning through the windows.   Strong casual strides brought him quickly to the stoop steps and he climbed them two at a time reaching for the handle. As his fingers were about to grasp the knob, the door pulled away from him.  The draft that flew in sent shivers skipping down her spine.  The vision of his damp black pants molded to his muscular legs followed by a form fitting ski jacket, that accented linebacker like shoulders, enticed goose bumps to decorate her flesh, as his deep brown eyes met hers and a smile widened across his face.  His eyes brighten while brows raised and his gaze drifted from seductive eyes, past soft curves, hugged by a sophisticatedly simple knit dress.  It’s vertical line of buttons revealing a moderate peek of cleavage and stopping just high enough to expose a glimpse of tawny flesh before the over the knee stiletto boots wrapped her curvy calfs, like a wet tee shirt coheres to bare skin. A welcomed display that awakened his libido and cause the blood to rush between his legs.