Hey, And For What It's Worth? Friends

It Doesn't Matter, Anyway, Why You Like Me. Just That You Do.

Usually When I Finish The Draft Of A Book, I'm Sure I'll Never Write Another One. I'm Just That Tired And Sick Of Myself. But Then Another Idea Starts Percolating. It Usually Begins With The Narrator's Name, Then Some Idea That Intrigues Me About Her Life Or Situation. I Try To Ignore It As Long As I Can, Because I Know When I Start Writing, I'll Be Right Back Into It, Every Single Day. But Eventually, I Just Have To. It's A Compulsion!

I Wondered Again Why The Right Thing Always Seemed To Be Met With So Much Resistance, When You'd Think It Would Be The Easier Path. You Had To Fight To Be Virtuous.

He Doesn’t Love Me. He Might Still Love Me As I Was At Fifteen, When I Didn’t Know Any Better. When I Trusted Everyone. I’m Not That Person Any More. He’s Just A Boy. He Was The First To Really Hurt Me, But He’s Just A Boy. There Were A Lot Of Them.

Mayonnaise Is A Lot Like Men, It Can Make Everything Much Better, Adding Flavor And Ease To Your Life. Or, It Can Just Be Sticky And Gross And Make You Nauseous"- "keeping The Moon