Memory is a tenuous thing, like a rainbow's end or a camera with a failing lens.

the not-so-bookish librarian was half angel, half she-devil, so sayeth the rumor mill.

he sucked the nectar from her heart like a famished butterfly.

Forgiveness isn’t my best thing. Easier staying pissed. But I’m tired of being pissed all the time. Tired of feeling hurt by stuff that can never be fixed because it is an indelible part of the past.

I mean, who wants to trudge through life, doing everything just right? Taking no chances means wasting your dreams.

back turned, you don't have to look at what you've left behind. And the first person who turned their back on you can't watch you break down and cry.

At Last It's a perfect winter day. No wind. No Arctic freeze. Cloudless azure sky. A day to fly. Snow drapes the mountain like ermine, fabulous feather- light powder coaxing me to flee the confines of my room, brave the mostly plowed road up to the closest ski resort. To run from the cloying silence connected Mom and Dad, into encompassing stillness far away from city dirt and noise Far above suburban gridlock. Far beyond the grasp of home.