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Here's the stuff we found when you searched for "she is still thinking about the lint hatching in her jacket pockets"

I haven't seen her in a month. She is still beautiful.
All the while he was talking she was thinking what his whiskers would feel like on the back of her neck
thinking about her
Her smile, thinking about you
Her grief is still too young to behave itself, so she never lets it out
When she woke up, her hands were still dreaming
Because I still love her, because I know she still loves me.
She thought about giving him her heart
How to drive a friend mad, and still feel good about yourself
A girl I know had her jaw wired shut, and she vomited.
I don't tell her these things, and she doesn't ask
She said, while hugging a bowl of turnips close to her bosom
you never once told her how beautiful she was nor how much you truly loved her
painting yourself into a corner today is better than spending a week thinking about painting
She was most amazed by the obvious, like January and the fact that I could not possibly keep her.
The emotion on her face was always the one that she was feeling in her heart
She may be pretty and have more money than me but she doesn't write songs about you.
She nicknamed her vagina "Crusty"
Her perception of how gorgeous she is will be evident in her lack of movement during sex
The things she wonders about
I don't think she even knows that I make her smile
little pieces of her tragically poetic attempts at being loved that she was startlingly aware of, today
I will be the first thing you will be thinking about after you wake
if you fear spells, look away when she decides to share her hair with the wind.
She grew a little older, while he was telling her
What the hell was she thinking?
She spent most of the day sleeping in my shirt pocket
She knows no truth except her own.
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
It's not worth thinking about. Have some tea. Come walk with me.
Thinking about seitan makes miso horny
She asked me to copy my poem into her notebook
You can't stop thinking of her: this is how you explained it, a proof of your being in love.
She does not rustle but her flesh has the moonlit shade of a silver birch
I have been thinking about kissing. A lot.
I keep her in my pocket
it was just as if she held her breath for 82 years
Her innocence fell. She kicked at it some, frowned, and left it there because it was beautiful.
She was the prettiest, loveliest cat at the ball and she had upon her fine gilded whiskers.
when still her eyes held water
She is the sea. Above her, he is thunder.
She was so quiet that nobody heard her
At night, her eyes closed, she would
It is her name that I think of when I think about being in love.
I gave her my heart, she tore it apart, and who gives a fart.
On she went. The woods were deep and still.
She was thinking of a boy in California who had a couch and a job
why are you still carrying her?
She, the Last Leviathan. She, the Station Agent. Chin on her Palm, she Watches Every Departure.
A crazy ideological teenager who still thinks that clear, free, rational thinking can save the world
Nice Legs, Shame About Her Face
I still can't think of anything about Fight Club that changed my life
Like hands on a clock tell time without thinking about how long it's been
She flies with her own wings
She bruised her knee. This is how we met.
Robert Lionel Fanthorpe fills up the word count in a science fiction novel: she brushed her teeth
What's she gonna look like with a chimney on her?
She was a committed romantic and an anarcha-feminist. This was hard for her because it meant she couldn't blow up beautiful buildings.
I still find strands of her hair in bed
What are you thinking about?
The portion of her face she allows me to see
I come home, she lifted up her wings. I guess that this must be the place.
does she need to touch her own face to know?
she had already found her party
wake up and find her still there
She who leaves men as flaming wrecks in the ditch on the side of the road in her wake, yea, even submarines
She was never mine. I always shared her.
She didn't wave goodbye so much as slightly raise her hand
Her self image was not the force field she imagined it to be
You put a hand on her hip, she permits it.
For when you and your shiftless friends are thinking about seeing a movie
She disappeared as if he had only dreamed her
she lit her thumb on fire
Susan Goldman, who has cervical cancer, is partly thankful as she braces herself but changes her mind as she's sprayed with burning jet fuel.
When she sleeps, is she not moving her legs aside for an unknown garrison?
serene. She sips her tea
If you really care about someone, do not tell her to fuck off
Her still wet hair
She always confused her greys with white.
She keeps her lies everywhere
Her sleeves ride up on her arms when she moves
She crashed her car trying to avoid a butterfly
She still has my Borges book
At night, she still believes in him
Jessica, too tall but still lovely, was not sure she would or should drop the whale
Still she cried, and still the world pursues
she gave her heart to a falling star
I still find her feathers
she is still a ghost
She is still undoing me.
Hours pass, but she still counts the minutes
thinking about thinking
When I look into her eyes, I no longer care about what the world thinks. This is what it feels like to be alive.
Ducks can swim. What about her pearls?
A different way of thinking about the stars
Can we still like each other knowing the worst about each other?
It is still hard to think about you without resorting to riddles and pointless pondering
About the things you could not show her
i don't spend a lot of time thinking about what it feels like to be gored by a chainsaw
You can complain about athlete salaries all you want, but my voicemail is still empty.
Don't tell me about her
Why can't I stop thinking about you?
She ties regrets around her fingers like forget-me-knots
Since she whom I lov'd hath paid her last debt
She found her bliss between the headphones, and pursed her lips.
It happened to everyone else; she swore it wouldn't to her
She wears her failed relationships like a shield
I don't like her because she won't like me
She told me she remembers three things about me
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.
She calls him Sugarcane. He calls her Hurricane.
Would you like to penetrate her shell, insinuating yourself among the pages of the books she is reading?
She sat in virginal white, eyes closed, with only her face in rose
She opened her eyes and spoke in a very normal voice, just as if she were sane
They walk around her like she is in danger of breaking
thinking about the brain surgery of your psychoanalyst, whose name is john, will make you crazy in a new way
What do girls think about guys when they catch guys staring at their breasts, but the guy is actually trying to read her shirt?
She is so beautiful, I gave up Nihilism for her
He touched her once and she turned into a golden creature. He never touched her again.
She always was devious in her beauty
She was inside the music, with her eyes closed
She plugs her tears in the way you'd keep a dam from breaking
You can play with my ex-girlfriend, but treat her like the lady that she is.
She opened her eyes, looked at a world made entirely of white light
She is the queen of accidental magic. Her used kleenexes, taken by the wind, become soulful ghosts.
Veronica loves manipulating her vagina until she explodes
I still love her (user)
She Will Have Her Way: The Songs Of Tim & Neil Finn
Some nights, alone, he thinks of her, and some nights, alone, she thinks of him
the way she wears her weary
She does not take her trip. She does not shout out loud.
Sometimes the apathy she saw made her want to curl up and cry
A dose of mystery slipped into her cocktail while she was in the ladies' room
She Will Have Her Way
you laugh and then you cry but you're still laughing but you miss her so damn much
i gave her my heart. she gave me a pen.
I told her I could read her mind, but she didn't believe me. I could tell.
why she makes her wishes at 7:07
She gets caught in the little world beneath her sheets
She picked herself up, wiping away at her dignity
She practices her speech
while she sleeps, i write myself into her life
She is willing to attempt to retrieve the data. Go with her.
It's been an hour. I still love her.
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
And she, with her beautiful words and such a fire burning inside
she left her handwriting all over the calendar
Does anyone still care about freedom?
She asked me to read her a poem
She said her father died of cancer in the sixties
I would have attempted to draw her if she had stayed that way.
She Called in Her Soul to Come and See
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'm looking at the river, but I'm thinking of the sea
We only care about the cute animals, everything else is food
What is this crap about trick-or-treating on Saturday?
Feeling bad about a good deed
The good thing about using a horribly outdated file system
about nobody (superdoc)
about box
Things my mom doesn't argue with me about anymore
The Trick About Thawing Grapes
The secret truth about the PalmPilot
One good thing about gangs
What We Talk about When We Talk About Love
Help me tell you a story about things and yourself, without pants
A joke about tax collectors
Quotes about robotic dinosaurs
Your radical ideas about society, individualism, and religion have already occurred to others
Your radical ideas about religion as a mechanism of social control have already occurred to others
I don't give a DAMN about your character
More Songs About Buildings and Food
LPPR: Illegal Speech About Drugs
You are the kind of girl my mother warned me about
Doctors know nothing about drugs
What Little I Know About Ingredients For Thai Cuisine

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