Says The Girl With No Thyme.

At Every Wedding Someone Stays Home.

But The Original Was There As Well—more Jaded And Rudimentary, Functional Rather Than Romantic. It Fit Not Just The Yellow House But Another Door, Deep Within My Own Heart. One That Had Been Locked So Tight For So Long That I Was Afraid To Even Try It For Fear Of What Might Be On The Other Side

And Always Remember How Much Your Crazy Sister Loves You.

I Wasn't Very Happy In High School: It Was A Confusing And Sort Of Sad Time For Me.

So Say I’m Your Mom.' 'what?' I Said. 'i’m Your Mom,' He Repeated. 'now Tell Me You Want To Quit Modeling.' I Could Feel Myself Blushing. 'i Can’t Do That,' I Said. 'why Not?' He Asked. 'is It So Hard To Believe? You Think I’m Not A Good Role-player?' 'no,' I Said. 'it’s Just–' 'because I Am. Everyone Wanted Me To Be Their Mother In Group.' I Just Looked At Him. 'i Just… It’s Weird.' 'no, It’s Hard. But Not Impossible. Just Try It.' A Week Earlier, I Hadn’t Even Known What Color His Eyes Were. Now, We Were Family. At Least Temporarily.