I want to wake up with you beside me in the mornings. I want to spend my evenings looking at you across the dinner table. I want to share every mundane detail of my day with you and hear every detail of yours. I want to laugh with you and fall asleep with you in my arms.

"I guess I'm okay with that. But it's not going to be easy for you. They don't have a lot of fishing or mudding around here." "I figured." "And not a lot of beach volleyball, either. Especially in January." "I guess I'll have to make some sacrifices." "Maybe if you're lucky, we can find you some other ways to occupy your time."

I have seldom been described as shy.

She couldn't think of anyone else who remotely resembled him. He was complicated, almost contradictory in so many ways, yet simple, a strangely erotic combination. On the surface he was a country boy, home from war, and he probably saw himself in those terms. Yet there was so much more to him. Perhaps it was the poetry that made him different, or perhaps it was the values his father had instilled in him, growing up. Either way, he seemed to savor life more fully than others appeared to, and that was what had first attracted her to him.

Yet I have come to believe that while the past is unchangeable, our perceptions of is are malleable.

I hope to be remembered as an author who defined and exemplified excellence in crafting the modern love story.

And believe it or not, she has a phone and everything. She stopped using smoking signals last year.