I Would Love To Write A Mystery

Maybe Love Is Thinking That Every Time Your Partner Does Or Says Something Mundane That You Want To Start A Mexican Wave From Here To Uzbekistan In Utter Delight.

Always A Chancer, Always Lucky, He'd Fall Into A River And Come Out Dry, With Fish In His Pockets.

Write What's Up There." Sister Ignatius Pointed At Her Temple. "as A Great Man Once Said, This Is A Secret Garden. We've All Got One Of Those." "jesus?" "no, Bruce Springsteen.

She Was Tired Of Hugging Pillows, Counting On Blankets For Warmth, And Reliving Romantic Moments Only In Her Dreams. She Was Tired Of Hoping That Every Day Would Hurry So She Could Get On To The Next. Hoping That It Would Be A Better Day, An Easier Day. But It Never Was. Worked, Paid The Bills, And Went To Bed But Never Slept. Each Morning The Weight On Her Shoulders Got Heavier And Heavier And Each Morning She Wished For Night To Fall Quickly So She Could Return To Her Bed To Hug Her Pillows And Wrap Herself In The Warmth Of Her Blankets.

I Can Only Assume That There’s Only One Thing More Frustrating Than Not Being Able To Find Someone, And That’s Not Being Found. I Would Want Someone To Find Me, More Than Anything.