Why Haven’t You Asked Me How I

You Send Me All These Roses. Every Time I Think The Last Bouquet Has Arrived, Finally, Another Turns Up. I’m Running Out Of Vases. I Didn’t Know Roses Came In So Many Colors. You Say They’re The Perfect Symbols Of Love Because They Have Thorns And Love Is Pain. I Say Life Is Pain, Highness. Anyone Who Says Differently Is Selling Something. And You Don’t Get It. You Say You Love Me, But You Don’t Speak My Language. You Don’t Even Realize I’m An Orchid Girl.

Old Stories Have A Habit Of Being Told And Retold And Changed. Each Subsequent Storyteller Puts His Or Her Mark Upon It. Whatever Truth The Story Once Had Is Buried In Bias And Embellishment. The Reasons Do Not Matter As Much As The Story Itself.

Have You Tried The Cinnamon Things?" Poppet Asks. "they're Rather New. What Are They Called, Widge?" "fantastically Delicious Cinnamon Things?

I Am Tired Of Trying To Hold Things Together That Cannot Be Held. Trying To Control What Cannot Be Controlled. I Am Tired Of Denying Myself What I Want For Fear Of Breaking Things I Cannot Fix. They Will Break No Matter What We Do.

It's Not A Real Name," She Says. "not One That He's Carried With Him Always. It's One He Wears Like His Hat. So He Can Take It Off If He Wants.