I Wanted To Talk To Someone. But

Prayer Or Not, I Want To Believe That, Despite All Evidence To The Contrary, It Is Possible For Anyone To Find That One Special Person. That Person To Spend Christmas With Or Grow Old With Or Just To Take A Nice Silly Walk In Central Park With. Somebody Who Wouldn't Judge Another For The Prepositions They Dangle, Or Their Run-on Sentences, And Who In Turn Wouldn't Be Judged For The Snobbery Of Their Language Etymology Inclinations.

I Feel Like There's So Much Darkness In All Of My Books.

It's The Great Male Fantasy-all It Takes Is One Dance To Know That She's The One. All It Takes Is The Sound Of Her Song From The Tower, Or A Look At Her Sleeping Face. And Right Away You Know-this Is The Girl In Your Head, Sleeping Or Dancing Or Singing In Front Of You. Yes, Girls Want Princes, But Boys Want Their Princesses Just As Much.

So Much Is Happening And Yet Nothing At All.

The Only Use She Has For The Word Fun Is To Make The Word Funeral.