I Mean, To Me, Freaking Out Is

This Is The Problem With Dealing With Someone Who Is Actually A Good Listener. They Don’t Jump In On Your Sentences, Saving You From Actually Finishing Them, Or Talk Over You, Allowing What You Do Manage To Get Out To Be Lost Or Altered In Transit. Instead, They Wait, So You Have To Keep Going.

It Was A Basic Plot In Any Number Of Her Books: Girl Strikes Out, Makes Good, Finds Love, Gets Revenge. In That Order. The Making Good And Striking Out Part I Liked. The Rest Would Just Be Bonus.

Behind The Camera, I Was Invisible. When I Lifted It Up To My Eye It Was Like I Crawled Into The Lens, Losing Myself There. And Everything Else Fell Away.

If You Didn't Love Him, This Never Would Have Happened. But You Did. And Accepting That Love And Everything That Followed It Is Part Of Letting It Go.

"what Was The Name Of Pygmalion's Sister?" She Blinked, Twice, Obviously Surprised. "ummm," She Said, Keeping Her Eyes On Me. "i Don't Know." Rogerson Did," I Told Her. "rogerson Knew Everything."