All True Readers Have A Book, A

Nighttime Is Different. Things Are Otherwise When The World Is Black. Insecurities And Hurts, Anxieties And Fears Grow Teeth At Night. P493

She'd Slept Terribly The Night Before. The Room, The Bed, Were Both Comfortable Enough, But She'd Been Plagued With Strange Dreams, The Sort That Lingered Upon Waking But Slithered Away From Memory As She Tried To Grasp Them. Only The Tendrils Of Discomfort Remained.

The World Was An Awfully Large Place And It Wasn't Easy To Find A Person Who'd Gone Missing Sixty Years Earlier, Even If That Person Was Oneself.

She's One Of The Few People Able To Look Beyond The Lines On My Face To See The Twenty-year-old Who Lives Inside.

She Hadn't Wanted To Be Loved Carefully, Only Well.