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Here's the stuff we found when you searched for "the rare individuals she knew from her childhood"

She plugs her tears in the way you'd keep a dam from breaking
I dreamed of her pulse long before I took it from her
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
At night, her eyes closed, she would
Her perception of how gorgeous she is will be evident in her lack of movement during sex
If her secrets spilled from her eyes into his
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.
And she, with her beautiful words and such a fire burning inside
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
I knew she wasn't faking
Every strong wind one leans into and smiles should bring back a lost toy from childhood
She was a committed romantic and an anarcha-feminist. This was hard for her because it meant she couldn't blow up beautiful buildings.
She always was all tea and oranges that came all the way from China
She is the queen of accidental magic. Her used kleenexes, taken by the wind, become soulful ghosts.
A girl I know had her jaw wired shut, and she vomited.
This was when I knew my childhood was over
she lit her thumb on fire
Veronica loves manipulating her vagina until she explodes
Since she whom I lov'd hath paid her last debt
she gave her heart to a falling star
I hide in the darkness of the cry that comes from her throat
She flies with her own wings
I come home, she lifted up her wings. I guess that this must be the place.
she left her handwriting all over the calendar
She bruised her knee. This is how we met.
'twas the telltale tink-tock of marionettes, he felt certain, that jingle-jangled from behind her shower curtain
When she sleeps, is she not moving her legs aside for an unknown garrison?
Her self image was not the force field she imagined it to be
She always was devious in her beauty
She practices her speech
little pieces of her tragically poetic attempts at being loved that she was startlingly aware of, today
Shelley Breedlove and her rare identical quadruplets
From Her to Eternity
She always confused her greys with white.
She started to fall, and knew she would never come back
I haven't seen her in a month. She is still beautiful.
Robert Lionel Fanthorpe fills up the word count in a science fiction novel: she brushed her teeth
She saved me from Hylas' fate
How Higher Education Ruined Movies From My Childhood
Childhood Songs From Baltimore and Beyond
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 does not rustle but her flesh has the moonlit shade of a silver birch
She found her bliss between the headphones, and pursed her lips.
All the while he was talking she was thinking what his whiskers would feel like on the back of her neck
serene. She sips her tea
I don't tell her these things, and she doesn't ask
She sat in virginal white, eyes closed, with only her face in rose
It happened to everyone else; she swore it wouldn't to her
She threw herself from the bed
it was just as if she held her breath for 82 years
She was inside the music, with her eyes closed
She gets caught in the little world beneath her sheets
She didn't wave goodbye so much as slightly raise her hand
why she makes her wishes at 7:07
She Will Have Her Way: The Songs Of Tim & Neil Finn
She who leaves men as flaming wrecks in the ditch on the side of the road in her wake, yea, even submarines
Because I still love her, because I know she still loves me.
while she sleeps, i write myself into her life
It's okay. I thought I knew her too.
I would have attempted to draw her if she had stayed that way.
She is the sea. Above her, he is thunder.
She does not take her trip. She does not shout out loud.
I watched her from afar
She crashed her car trying to avoid a butterfly
I Knew Her Through a Window
I tried to memorise her, from beginning to end
the linear and the docile go feral at her command. we're on the run from rogue rivers and predatory trains.
Saturday night, the words falling from her lips
Today I clean her little fingerprints from my window
Things I've learned from living with an unwed mother and her two small children
how many bird nests would be made from her lovely hair
She tries to hold the wind, stop it from crying
Inches away from her face
In the Fifties, a visitor from Great Britain to New York City notices a young Black woman driving a limousine. A portly middle-aged man, race undetermined, is in the back. Tell her story.
She thought about giving him her heart
She said, while hugging a bowl of turnips close to her bosom
She is lobbing rainbows at me from across the room and I am swallowing them like fear.
I bet she drinks from the bottle
Including her knees and a dragon made from a sock
She wears her failed relationships like a shield
I don't like her because she won't like me
Her grief is still too young to behave itself, so she never lets it out
She opened her eyes and spoke in a very normal voice, just as if she were sane
She calls him Sugarcane. He calls her Hurricane.
They walk around her like she is in danger of breaking
She asked me to copy my poem into her notebook
Sometimes the apathy she saw made her want to curl up and cry
When she woke up, her hands were still dreaming
What's she gonna look like with a chimney on her?
She is so beautiful, I gave up Nihilism for her
She grew a little older, while he was telling her
Her innocence fell. She kicked at it some, frowned, and left it there because it was beautiful.
You can play with my ex-girlfriend, but treat her like the lady that she is.
Would you like to penetrate her shell, insinuating yourself among the pages of the books she is reading?
She ties regrets around her fingers like forget-me-knots
I knew that. My brain just chose to withhold that information from me.
The portion of her face she allows me to see
does she need to touch her own face to know?
the way she wears her weary
She opened her eyes, looked at a world made entirely of white light
The emotion on her face was always the one that she was feeling in her heart
I don't think she even knows that I make her smile
She was the prettiest, loveliest cat at the ball and she had upon her fine gilded whiskers.
She Will Have Her Way
she had already found her party
She was most amazed by the obvious, like January and the fact that I could not possibly keep her.
I told her I could read her mind, but she didn't believe me. I could tell.
if you fear spells, look away when she decides to share her hair with the wind.
A dose of mystery slipped into her cocktail while she was in the ladies' room
Some nights, alone, he thinks of her, and some nights, alone, she thinks of him
He touched her once and she turned into a golden creature. He never touched her again.
You put a hand on her hip, she permits it.
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
She is willing to attempt to retrieve the data. Go with her.
She disappeared as if he had only dreamed her
She picked herself up, wiping away at her dignity
i gave her my heart. she gave me a pen.
She Called in Her Soul to Come and See
She knows no truth except her own.
She said her father died of cancer in the sixties
She, the Last Leviathan. She, the Station Agent. Chin on her Palm, she Watches Every Departure.
She asked me to read her a poem
She was so quiet that nobody heard her
She was never mine. I always shared her.
Funny -- she looks much smaller from outside her head
I gave her my heart, she tore it apart, and who gives a fart.
She knew what she was doing
you never once told her how beautiful she was nor how much you truly loved her
She nicknamed her vagina "Crusty"
She keeps her lies everywhere
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.
Looking back from time to time, her tears falling fast
Necessary to a happy childhood
Save your childhood
Random childhood memory #327
Childhood traumas
A Rainbow Brite Childhood
Shenanigans of Childhood
Ruminations on a childhood lost to expectations
My childhood characters
Reliving my childhood on shrooms
Guileless childhood
Childhood memories
Childhood habits
Childhood vaccines
Ecology of a Cracker Childhood
childhood amnesia
There is no Goddess but Goddess and She is Your Goddess
the invention of childhood
Small Town Thinking (High School) vs. City Childhood
The Soft Meadow of my Childhood
Childhood apraxia of speech
After childhood, we are too used to understanding everything.
Ake: The Years of Childhood
as if you were again young and chasing a childhood sweetheart
3rd Rock from the Sun
Bastard Operator from Hell
You're not from around here, are you?
From Dusk Till Dawn
You can't get there from here
from
The Cat from Outer Space
Theme from Shaft
Argument from Evil
Notes from the Underground
from scratch
Argument from Non-Belief
Polaroids from the Dead
Hating religion is different from hating an ethnic group
Good from far, but far from good
From the Earth to the Moon
The In Sound from Way Out!
Argument from Design
A Letter from Grant Richards to James Joyce, April 23, 1906

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