It is interesting how one word can spark memories that one believes she has buried beyond recognition.

I was completely and irrevocably in lust; which tends to make a person impassive to others’ pain. Love makes us compassionate. Lust makes us deaf to all but the lover.

She did not date. She did not have time for men. Men were never, ever worth a great amount of energy. She was the kind of woman that looked down on what she called ‘settlers’, women who chose love and fleeting passion that turned to dull, lifeless marriages over a career and independence.

We are traveling down a path with no happy ending, and it's too late to turn around.

My parents have long been gone, but it brings back very fond memories of coming home after school, and eating meatloaf, mashed potatoes and creamed corn.

My heart's with you, Bill, no matter how it turns out. My heart is with all of them, and I think that, even if we forget each other, we'll remember in our dreams.