So It Just Wasn't In

It Was Like Reaching For Someone's Hand, Then Missing Their Fingers, Or Even Their Arm, And Hitting Their Shoulder Instead. But No Matter. You Hang On Tight Anyway.

But The Original Was There As Well—more Jaded And Rudimentary, Functional Rather Than Romantic. It Fit Not Just The Yellow House But Another Door, Deep Within My Own Heart. One That Had Been Locked So Tight For So Long That I Was Afraid To Even Try It For Fear Of What Might Be On The Other Side

The World Is Speaking To You Every Day, You Just Don't Know How To Listen.

It Was A Basic Plot In Any Number Of Her Books: Girl Strikes Out, Makes Good, Finds Love, Gets Revenge. In That Order. The Making Good And Striking Out Part I Liked. The Rest Would Just Be Bonus.

…you Don’t Want The Best Of Times To Be Just One Thing, Forever. You Have To Have A Lot Of Bests Of Times, Each One Topping The Last. You Know?