A Problem Is really just a solution in need of a reason to exist.

Detailed descriptions, abstract ambitions, relevant observations, your's and mine.

Then teach me how to not care about someone who was everything to me. All I want is to know she's okay. Is that too much to ask?

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

empty and closed, hovering in some frozen netherworld neither sun nor rain could thaw.

Pretty That's what I am, I guess. I mean, people have been telling me that's what I am since I was two. Maybe younger. Pretty as a picture. (Who wants to be a cliché?) Pretty as an angel. (Can you see them?) Pretty as a butterfly. (But isn't that really just a glam bug?) Cliché, invisible, or insectlike, I grew up knowing I was pretty and believing everything good about me had to do with how I looked. The mirror was my best friend. Until it started telling me I wasn't really pretty enough.

I haven't cried since Mom died. I mean, after something like that, what's left to cry about, right? But I let myself cry now. Loss is loss. Doesn't take death to create it. (266)