Findings:

Here's the stuff we found when you searched for "she breathed like I had made her immortal"

Sometimes the apathy she saw made her want to curl up and cry
She was the prettiest, loveliest cat at the ball and she had upon her fine gilded whiskers.
She hit me like thunder, and I had to lie down until I could breathe again
I would have attempted to draw her if she had stayed that way.
She had fingernails that shined like justice
She ties regrets around her fingers like forget-me-knots
She disappeared as if he had only dreamed her
She opened her eyes, looked at a world made entirely of white light
it was just as if she held her breath for 82 years
She wears her failed relationships like a shield
What's she gonna look like with a chimney on her?
Would you like to penetrate her shell, insinuating yourself among the pages of the books she is reading?
she had already found her party
You can play with my ex-girlfriend, but treat her like the lady that she is.
she made them, like fire, expansible over all space
A girl I know had her jaw wired shut, and she vomited.
She had incongruity for breakfast because she felt like it
She had eyes like the Blue Screen of Death
I don't like her because she won't like me
They walk around her like she is in danger of breaking
All the while he was talking she was thinking what his whiskers would feel like on the back of her neck
She was most amazed by the obvious, like January and the fact that I could not possibly keep her.
Milk left on the counter overnight turned sour. She had turned as well.
Her eyes were gray like a storm, and even more dangerous
I remember when it was me who made her skin flush
you never once told her how beautiful she was nor how much you truly loved her
The shadows made her look a little treacherous.
I had seen the whole thing coming like a ghost train. Here I am on the tracks, still bleeding, taking phone numbers, haunted.
She was inside the music, with her eyes closed
She had a 10 million candlepower smile
My cat's breath smells like cat food
She was a Surrealist Woman, She was like a Figure in a Dream
When she was new, she rolled around the sky like a black umbrella blown by the wind
Her grief is still too young to behave itself, so she never lets it out
She found her bliss between the headphones, and pursed her lips.
serene. She sips her tea
i gave her my heart. she gave me a pen.
She gets caught in the little world beneath her sheets
She is so beautiful, I gave up Nihilism for her
She keeps her lies everywhere
She said her father died of cancer in the sixties
She is willing to attempt to retrieve the data. Go with her.
The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne
Gosh! That single kiss made me feel like I'm charged up with the power of a million exploding suns!
She couldn't imagine that he liked dancing
like a tiger without her mountain
She Called in Her Soul to Come and See
The colors flow through her like a rainbow
She calls him Sugarcane. He calls her Hurricane.
I remember when it was me who made her toilet flush
She always was devious in her beauty
The portion of her face she allows me to see
she left her handwriting all over the calendar
It clings to her like dedication in the rain
why she makes her wishes at 7:07
She plugs her tears in the way you'd keep a dam from breaking
she had mood ring eyes
The hardest breath she has
waiting for his arms to fold like wings around her
That week with her was like drinking bubbles
how many bird nests would be made from her lovely hair
She nicknamed her vagina "Crusty"
She is like an onion
She doesn't look like Mother anymore
She crashed her car trying to avoid a butterfly
she gave herself that holocaust haircut. cinnamon colored clippings cover the motel bedspread like sprinkles.
She tastes like gingerbread, too.
She must be what cocaine is like
When that cow would walk it was like she was dancing
We kissed like we had never tasted lips
They had left, but her mascara kept running
If America Had a War on Sex like it Does with Drugs
She was feminine in the most displaced sense I had ever seen, a known quality refracted through stained glass windows.
She had become a mutton for punishment and he was a wolf
Her perception of how gorgeous she is will be evident in her lack of movement during sex
I haven't seen her in a month. She is still beautiful.
She was a committed romantic and an anarcha-feminist. This was hard for her because it meant she couldn't blow up beautiful buildings.
The World I Made for Her
Including her knees and a dragon made from a sock
She grew a little older, while he was telling her
I come home, she lifted up her wings. I guess that this must be the place.
She who leaves men as flaming wrecks in the ditch on the side of the road in her wake, yea, even submarines
She does not take her trip. She does not shout out loud.
I don't think she even knows that I make her smile
Waiting for the number 48 bus, holding her breath
Her self image was not the force field she imagined it to be
She Will Have Her Way
her ardent eyebrows are charcoal scimitars taut above eyes that breeze like open windows
she doesn't write, doesn't tell you stories, but somehow it's her words that spring to mind at those crucial, terrifying moments, and for that you are eternally grateful
When she sleeps, is she not moving her legs aside for an unknown garrison?
Some nights, alone, he thinks of her, and some nights, alone, she thinks of him
When she woke up, her hands were still dreaming
The walls she had built around herself cracked and crumbled
I feel like I don't know her for a moment. It passes.
My friend is dating someone who likes him far more than he likes her
She asked me to read her a poem
She knows no truth except her own.
she lit her thumb on fire
That was what her hunger was like: mesmerizing, directed, floating like a public secret just under the cloud cover.
She, the Last Leviathan. She, the Station Agent. Chin on her Palm, she Watches Every Departure.
She asked me if I loved her and I showed her the tattoo
She smokes. It wraps around her wrists and clings to her neck.
I like it when I dream of her. It's the only time we get to talk.
I gave her my heart, she tore it apart, and who gives a fart.
she gave her heart to a falling star
For a lawyer she was surprisingly like a child. Sometimes.
She told me I looked like a Henry, and this is how she would know me
I would have liked thunder when she left
How would you like it if they took your subculture and made it a theme night?
She always confused her greys with white.
this writeup made me hungry like DAMN so I'm chinging it!
She tasted like whiskey and blood and cemetery dirt.
Spinning shapes like a song out of order. In the dark she can see fireflies.
She was like a candle in the wind: unreliable
she can't remember what it's like to be found
She Came and Went Like Wind (A Selkie Story)
She is like a kaleidoscope, a strange attractor, a superstition
She is a night of dark trees, but he who is not afraid of her darkness will find banks full of roses under her cypresses
When I look into her eyes, I no longer care about what the world thinks. This is what it feels like to be alive.
All the things she had at one point wanted to be
She had never kissed someone so old.
So she could feel as if she had danced
She had the most wonderful grin in the world
Empty at last she had room to unfurl
before the internet when teen had REAL relationship the boy could look at the girl and judge the diameter of her thorax with his feelers and determine whether the mating ritual could commence but NO MORE. evil woman use her computer sorcery
She Had to Be Sure
Her lack of response opened a gate through which my mind started to wander, into a wilderness where the shadows all had teeth...
She thought about giving him her heart
She said, while hugging a bowl of turnips close to her bosom
She flies with her own wings
She bruised her knee. This is how we met.
She asked me to copy my poem into her notebook
Robert Lionel Fanthorpe fills up the word count in a science fiction novel: she brushed her teeth
Tied up tight, like a bride on her wedding night
She does not rustle but her flesh has the moonlit shade of a silver birch
She opened her eyes and spoke in a very normal voice, just as if she were sane
Fuck and please her like never before with the Stimulator!
In a quiet grove of pines under a frosty sky, he helped her out of the sack. She wore severe white hospital pajamas and was beautiful.
It happened to everyone else; she swore it wouldn't to her
Since she whom I lov'd hath paid her last debt
She bought a new smile every week when we first started seeing each other. Then I had to buy them.
Her innocence fell. She kicked at it some, frowned, and left it there because it was beautiful.
How I invented Anna and made her a character in all my stories
This is a story I wish I had been able to write. Hope you like it.
Her Body Had Knots and Hollows
She was never mine. I always shared her.
I don't tell her these things, and she doesn't ask
For my last trick, I made her disappear
At night, her eyes closed, she would
The old man on the bench, for example, made her cry
Even the moon likes to change her colors
sunset rainwater turns her sidewalk chalk-art into a sherbert delight; a surprise gift from chaos that tumbles her like tinkling bells onto the wet grass
And her legs went on forever, like staring up at infinity
Veronica loves manipulating her vagina until she explodes
I ate her love like a nine-piece bucket of chicken
He touched her once and she turned into a golden creature. He never touched her again.
the way she wears her weary
She is the queen of accidental magic. Her used kleenexes, taken by the wind, become soulful ghosts.
And she, with her beautiful words and such a fire burning inside
I got a girl in the war, Paul, her eyes are like champagne
Her hips made waves against his shore
She Will Have Her Way: The Songs Of Tim & Neil Finn
does she need to touch her own face to know?
She didn't wave goodbye so much as slightly raise her hand
if you fear spells, look away when she decides to share her hair with the wind.
She was so quiet that nobody heard her
little pieces of her tragically poetic attempts at being loved that she was startlingly aware of, today
while she sleeps, i write myself into her life
I told her I could read her mind, but she didn't believe me. I could tell.
A dose of mystery slipped into her cocktail while she was in the ladies' room
The emotion on her face was always the one that she was feeling in her heart
She sat in virginal white, eyes closed, with only her face in rose
I don't think I realized what I had gotten myself into, but it seemed like the potential for fun and insanity were there in equal parts
Because I still love her, because I know she still loves me.
I told her the driftwood looked like Spain
She picked herself up, wiping away at her dignity
She is the sea. Above her, he is thunder.
She practices her speech
You put a hand on her hip, she permits it.
She was thinking of a boy in California who had a couch and a job

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