She was soft rock that suddenly turned hard.

She was a walking deposition to every encounter that fed a dark hunger for confrontation.

She'd invite you in, but you'd never be a part of her conversation.

She liked this singer so much without me.

When he ceased to embrace his inner child, he was no longer a man.

Connecting the dots with her created no discernible image.

At some point he had to find a safe parking space for her.

Like the honesty of a confronted dog.

She idols on happiness, but when she gives it gas, she's running you over.