Relationships are rough. To write about, to be in…take your pick. I’ve woken to the pounding memory of my heart strings tearing apart from the forced absence of a man I had the misfortune to dream about, again. Not just one man, no, at least two. I don’t count the others. One of them, I never dream about, but it could be that his favorite color was brown: it began and end with that dull shade. I was too much crazy for him. Point taken. Also, I was too much crazy for all of them. Each one not quite the other, but all ended the same, well plain guy didn’t really care if I was still his friend on Facebook. I took that one into my own hands. The other two hurt me the most. So, when I fall asleep in my happy little king-sized bed complete with soft sheets and fuzzy blankets, my brain decides to remind me about every embarassing moment and painful response to these two guys. Mostly the first and we all know how the first gets us. Not really a winning moment. After all this time, it still gets to me. I write romance into my stories and each time I put in a piece of that first-love guy, I wonder why. Why was it all so hard? The good news is that when something is diffucult to relive, you should write about it! Yay! More terrible memories to bleed onto the page! The digital trees must not be doing well.