I stopped telling youall of my secretswhen you becamemy biggest one.

Today I hate myself for loving you,and I hate myself for not being strong enough to love youback...when I know broken boys like you need me, too.

I save a piece of paper that hasthe indentation of your name on it—your signature......move.I knew that I shouldn't have let youpush down so hard.Your memory left a markon so many pages after,if you couldn't tell,as I publish againto press on....

In the few minutes that he sleeps,I am with myself again—that part of me that makes me......me,which is sometimesyou.

Don't keep coloring in their lineswaiting for them to sign on the dotted...for you will become......overdrawn.

I have to know if you'll read thisthe same way that I wrote it,because if you can't, then you're nothing more than a rough draftthat I don't care to edit.

The spiking temps spiked a fever for cool commons, so I made a plate of tapenade, bruschetta, and prosciutto,with orange creamsicle martinis flowing like aZen fountain. It was hard for me to believethat I woke up that morning fighting back tearsfor no reason and all kinds of reasons. It is still...hard for me to believe that you have become no reason,at all.

Sometimes the loneliest place you will ever beis in bed beside someoneyou cannot reach.There is no lovein our loveanymore.

He didn't see women as people;he saw them as trophies,and that is precisely whyhe never won me.