Friends Don't Get Jealous Of Each Other

I Tell Of Hearts And Souls And Dances... Butterflies And Second Chances; Desperate Ones And Dreamers Bound, Seeking Life From Barren Ground, Who Suffer On In Earthly Fate The Bitter Pain Of Agony Hate, Might But They Stop And Here Forgive Would Break The Bonds To Breathe And Live And Find That God In Goodness Brings A Chance For Change, The Hope Of Wings To Rest In Him, And Self To Die And So Become A Butterfly.

Her Eyes Held An Endless Kind Of Love For Him.

I Write About The Trials And Triumphs Of Contemporary Life - And Often The Readers See Themselves Between The Lines Of The Story.

Three Years? That's A Thousand Tomorrows, Ma'am.

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.