I Write About True-life Type

Real Love Never Fails.

The Death Of A Friendship Was Usually Slow And Insidious, Like The Wearing Away Of A Hillside After Years Of Too Much Rain. A Handful Of Misunderstandings, A Season Of Miscommunication, The Passing Of Time, And Where Once Stood Two Women With A Dozen Years Of Memories And Tears And Conversation And Laughter—where Once Stood Two Women Closer Than Sisters—now Stood Two Strangers.

But The Beast Was A Good Person...the Prince Looked On The Outside The Way The Beast Was On The Inside. Sometimes People Couldn't See The Inside Of The Person Unless They Like The Outside Of A Person. Because They Hadn't Learned To Hear The Music Yet.

It's Never Too Late With Truth. It Stands Outside Time.

I Write About True-life Type Things.