J H Laing
Verge: Why Romance Books?
She likes to stand on the verge of a romantic cliff with her focus on the horizon, never looking down. Where reality blends into the flow of the clouds, licking the mountain tops. And she’s just a step away from falling off until that gut wrenching reminder that fantasy is always better than the consequences of her fate. And so, she teeters brilliantly, like a graceful dancer in control and balanced while still aware of the thrill of what’s just beneath her heavenly view.
There’s an allure around temptation. The naughtiness of it breaches sanity. The reciprocal chemistry that is ignited during unexpected evenings or surprise interactions that take someone on trails of innocent consideration amid slow rising heat.
The imagination, the desperation, the indignation taunts her. It’s a desire for the unknown and wonders of the yet to explore. It’s what she might have had or once had. Rekindle, replay. A hopeful message that this could be her, without deceit or betrayal, living vicariously through the eyes of another.
She loves romantic stories. The what could be. The uncertainty of the situation. Being drawn so voraciously to another.
She teeters brilliantly, like a graceful dancer in control and balanced while still aware of the thrill of what’s just beneath her heavenly view. Wavering on the verge of something new.