“Losing ItSome days I thinkI'm losing my mind.What seems so clearmost of the timebecomes a big question mark.Am I really the wayI percieve myself, oris the person others seethe truth of me? I wait foranswers, but inside I know I have to go outand find them. And answerslike knowledge, are not always where wefirst look for them.”

“I never went to Albuquerque expecting to find love. I thought it had found me there, followed me home. I never came home expecting to lose love in the space of one brief telephone call. Is it always so short-lived?”

“I only have have one question, scraping the inside of me. Answer it, and I will stumble back into her shadow, shut my mouth, never ask again. I've tried to ignore it, but it won't go away. It haunts my dreams, chases me through every single day, and I don't have the strength to turn around, face it down. So please tell me and I swear I'll never ask again. It's in your power to make it go away, and all you have to do is tell me why you love her more.”

“Being In LoveMeans hard questions. Will I? Won't I? Should I? Could I?Yes? No? You?Me? There is no mewithout you.Is there a you without me?And if were truly one.how will I breathewhen circomstance pries us apart?You are my oxygen.my substance,the blood inside my veins.When wetouch, you are my skin.hold all my joy inside of you.When you go, I wither.”

“I've Got A Little ProblemAnd I'm not really sure how to fix it.Not really sure I need to. Not really sure I could.Life is pretty good. But once in a while, uninvited and uninitiated anger invades me.It starts, a tiny gnaw at the back of my brain. Like a migraine except without pain. They say headaches blossom, but this isn't so much a blooming as a bleeding. Irritation bleeds into rage, seethes into fury. An ulcer, emptying hatred inside me. And I don't know why. Life is pretty good.So, what the hell?”

“Honolulu represents the worst of all that. Yet every time I fly in, anticipation begins to build just about the time I think I'll go crazy, stuffed into a narrow airliner seat between honeymooners and retired couples looking for Shangri-La.I'd like to tell them to hold on tight to that person beside them, because that's where they'll find paradise. It is not a beach or a palm tree grove or the brim of a smoking black crater. It's a plateau inside their hearts, one that can only be reached in tandem.”

“PrettyThat's what I am, I guess.I mean, people have been tellingme that's what I am sinceI was two. Maybe younger. Prettyas a picture. (Who wantsto be a cliché?) Pretty asan angel. (Can you see them?)Pretty as a butterfly. (But isn'tthat really just a glam bug?)Cliché, invisible, or insectlike,I grew up knowing I waspretty and believing everything goodabout me had to do with howI looked. The mirror was my bestfriend. Until it started telling me I wasn't really pretty enough.”