Can someone decorate my life with love, tenderness and care? Where do I find such an Angel when I feel I may stick in this wretched place I now call home? Will it not be wretched everywhee, until I find my love? Am I so pathetic all I write about is my joys and sorrows, and my echoing wish to be free? Yes, and I do care, but cannot yield to write what will not find itself in my heart, as truly meaningful.

(I did find him, I married him, and I wouldn't change a thing)