Findings:

Here's the stuff we found when you searched for "In that she looked like she was about to messily tear up something much smaller than she was. Don't ask me why you people find it attractive."

I said I was sorry. Then she looked at me.
I was once smaller than a jellybean, but now look at me - I am macroscopic!
When she was new, she rolled around the sky like a black umbrella blown by the wind
She told me I looked like a Henry, and this is how she would know me
For a lawyer she was surprisingly like a child. Sometimes.
you never once told her how beautiful she was nor how much you truly loved her
She was a Surrealist Woman, She was like a Figure in a Dream
She was an intellectual prostitute, seducing me with profound truisms
She was like a candle in the wind: unreliable
All the while he was talking she was thinking what his whiskers would feel like on the back of her neck
She didn't write like Emily Dickinson, but she did live in a house overlooking a cemetery, and I guess he thought that was important.
She was most amazed by the obvious, like January and the fact that I could not possibly keep her.
She was pain and pleasure all at once, wrapped up in needles and Ramones T-shirts
She was a committed romantic and an anarcha-feminist. This was hard for her because it meant she couldn't blow up beautiful buildings.
Outside the train station she was the only person wearing an Orange raincoat and a look of surprise
I don't like her because she won't like me
She may be pretty and have more money than me but she doesn't write songs about you.
When that cow would walk it was like she was dancing
She was watching me and I didn’t know it.
She was never mine. I always shared her.
She was cilantro, jalepeno, habanero. She was the hot plate you must not touch.
She looks at me and she laughs
She dreamt she was a bulldozer, she dreamt she was alone in an empty field
She was very beautiful. Y'know?
little pieces of her tragically poetic attempts at being loved that she was startlingly aware of, today
She just looks at me
Because, perhaps she was cold
She didn't know what outside was anymore.
she was once a stealthy ghostship in the fog, now she shines wherever she walks
She knew what she was doing
He stretched out his arms but she was not there
He dreamt he was a bulldozer, she dreamt she was alone in an empty bed
She asked me to copy my poem into her notebook
I was throwing around useless proverbs when all she needed was to be held and told that she was beautiful
someday, when she will think back upon the time when she was as yet undishonored
I don't know why but I always love episodes without words. like just something about them makes me feel calm or something..
The one thing I wanted more than anything was for someone, just once, to tell me they don't know what they'd do without me
What the hell was she thinking?
The House on the Island Where She Was Born
To a girl who thought she was moving away
Dust mop so magic she can not believe how fun it is to clean up after people
"He was a terrible man," she sobbed, between bites of alimony
A dose of mystery slipped into her cocktail while she was in the ladies' room
She hit me like thunder, and I had to lie down until I could breathe again
She told me she remembers three things about me
She asked me to read her a poem
I don't tell her these things, and she doesn't ask
She always was all tea and oranges that came all the way from China
He was an ant on an ill-defined mission. She was the trapdoor spider of love.
She probably thought your first language was English; your real first language was Joyce
she looked at me then whispered, we are all made of stardust
She was the cutest necromancer I ever did see
She is lobbing rainbows at me from across the room and I am swallowing them like fear.
She was so quiet that nobody heard her
She had become a mutton for punishment and he was a wolf
The emotion on her face was always the one that she was feeling in her heart
She was cilantro, jalapeño, habanero. She was the hot plate you must not touch.
She was free
She was so tall, and I was so in love
She Was 18, It Was Summer
She Looked Slutty. I Don't Mean That in a Bad Way.
piano outside in the snow. and she was spinning
She doesn't look like Mother anymore
She was locked in time
Fast-talking career gal who thought she was one of the boys
She moved so easily all I could think of was sunlight
She was steady
She wore a bit more makeup than he generally liked
She was thinking of a boy in California who had a couch and a job
She always was devious in her beauty
Her innocence fell. She kicked at it some, frowned, and left it there because it was beautiful.
Her self image was not the force field she imagined it to be
She was so pleased to learn that she was right
She was the seed of a strange tomorrow
The flowers smiled, but she was gone
She was inside the music, with her eyes closed
Existentialism is that girlfriend who cheated on you. Postmodernism is who she was with.
She was buttery. She was asking for it. She was delicious. Let's all give in.
The Abridged Edition: She was to one side, he was to the other, an untested bridge between them
I'm sorry I was speeding, officer, but I really have to get to the hospital
And when she came back she was nobody's wife
When she was bad
I was tired. It was late. She was Russian.
She asked me if I loved her and I showed her the tattoo
She asked me to stop dreaming of death
She was the prettiest, loveliest cat at the ball and she had upon her fine gilded whiskers.
she was just the dry smell of gasoline
She is and was
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 was just as if she held her breath for 82 years
Besides the part where she was the only one
she was waylaid by an octopus
She was coming out as he was going in.
She was too beautiful to be human
She wakes me up by tickling my feet
The girl didn't know if she was loved until he said yes.
She's smarter than me but she's also more quiet, therefore she has no personality which makes me feel better
And I asked myself about the present: how wide it was, how deep it was, how much was mine to keep?
She cleaned up for me at least.
She was feminine in the most displaced sense I had ever seen, a known quality refracted through stained glass windows.
She grew a little older, while he was telling her
What's she gonna look like with a chimney on her?
Jessica, too tall but still lovely, was not sure she would or should drop the whale
I was raised on red pepper and blood. I am so hot if you strike me I will light like a match.
I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now
She handed me my first sharpened pencil.
She told me she wouldn't
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
She tastes like gingerbread, too.
she does not know how much I need this (idea) mp3 (recording)
I would have liked thunder when she left
If she really wanted to fit in, she'd get a smaller dog.
I was wrong as a child, to think old people were stupid for asking me where the day had gone. Now I understand... we older people do not live.
The portion of her face she allows me to see
She kills me
She doesn't need me anymore
She loves me, she loves me not
It wasn't so much a trip down memory lane as it was me carjacking someone's memorymobile and speeding off down the freeway, but I digress.
texting, she tells me anarchy will remain an important ideology
She is like a kaleidoscope, a strange attractor, a superstition
Because I still love her, because I know she still loves me.
that's where she lost me as I began imagining my family amongst blood-dripped hedges
Robert Lionel Fanthorpe fills up the word count in a science fiction novel: she brushed her teeth
she gave herself that holocaust haircut. cinnamon colored clippings cover the motel bedspread like sprinkles.
She stopped me in the city. A lost soul gambling on random encounters.
They walk around her like she is in danger of breaking
she made them, like fire, expansible over all space
Looks like 1984 was only n years off
She Blinded Me With Science
She who makes the Moon the Moon and, whenever she is full, sets the dogs to howling all night long, and me with them.
I really miss the woman who told me that people don't like me
Two condoms, she makes me wear
i gave her my heart. she gave me a pen.
Is it fair for him to love me when she craves his touch?
She said she loved me. The knife came down.
She ties regrets around her fingers like forget-me-knots
The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne
She taught me some moves, including stealthy exits.
She loved me for my brains not my body. It's what zombies do.
She loved me for my maths
She must be what cocaine is like
My mother loves me. She uses the good sandwich bags.
You can play with my ex-girlfriend, but treat her like the lady that she is.
Hold me up against the light of astonishment. What was I thinking of?
Spinning shapes like a song out of order. In the dark she can see fireflies.
She tasted like whiskey and blood and cemetery dirt.
She Came and Went Like Wind (A Selkie Story)
She tells me she drives a truck.
She Gave Sweet Love To Me
She had fingernails that shined like justice
Here's Me Inside Her But I Can Tell From Her Vagina She Doesn't Really Care
My Mother She Killed Me, My Father He Ate Me
God was creepier than I expected so I took it out on the little people
She couldn't imagine that he liked dancing
I felt I was part of something, like a voice in a crowd or an island in a sea
she does not know how much I need this
she can't remember what it's like to be found
She didn't wave goodbye so much as slightly raise her hand
She is like an onion
she spent the night gingerly peeling me off the moon.
I would have tried, but Charlotte kept Charlotte in the world of Charlotte and she barely heard me
I told her I could read her mind, but she didn't believe me. I could tell.
There is nothing growing here, in the space between she and me
The stars were bright that night she left me forever
I put my head down and hoped to God she wasn't looking at me
she, he, and me
Somebody told me a story. It was pretty but boring. It was Saturday night, my stories usually end up that way.
She left me on the boardwalk with my head held in my hands.
Don't kill your invisible husband to see what he looks like or you'll sob your heart out. But don't worry about the millions of invisible men coming to attack your village because they won't kill you if you don't know how to fight them.
Tell him, she told me
She Speaks to Me
Would you like to penetrate her shell, insinuating yourself among the pages of the books she is reading?
She saved me from Hylas' fate
She had eyes like the Blue Screen of Death
Tell me what you don't like about yourself.
This is the first time she's texted me since the morning she left.
She might not need me. But then again she might.
She found me on public transportation

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