I have this book on my shelf that never fails to make me smile. It's called 'Men Before 10'. In it a photographer wakes up famous men and takes their pictures. Reading that book, I was suddenly inspired by the short, inteense blurbs written about each man.

This story is a series of blurbs, as if random woman are asked to tell about the love of their lives. I've started with nine, but will continue to post more as I collect them.

Thanks for reading! CJ

She is calm, quiet. Composed. In her eyes is a spark of what one could only call madness.

She sits down with what she says is her 'millionth' cup of coffee and a cigarette, which she smokes in long languorous drags.

Her bathrobe is red silk, but falls open to reveal a worn t-shirt.

"My husband doesn't love me." She tells me in a matter of fact tone.

"He thinks our child isn't his."

She shrugs eloquently. "How do you prove what you haven't done?"

Grace and reserve.

When her baby cries, she hurries to get him.

She trips on the stairs and that's when she sits down and cries.

She lives in a house full of cats. Ignoring all of the furry bodies around her, she brews a cup of tea.

"I loved a boy once," she says in a whispery voice. "He was beautiful on the outside, but very ugly on the inside."

The cats go berserk as she starts filling food bowls. They howl and cry, pushing each other out of the way in a fight to be closest to the bowls.

"He broke my heart so long ago," she whispers. "It shouldn't matter any more."

Putting the bowls down among the rampaging felines, she straightens slowly and gazes into the distance.

"I still love him."

She sits alone in a crowded bar. Red lips, black dress, high heels.

She's drinking whiskey.

Sneering in response to my question, she tosses back her drink and motions for another.

"Fucker left in the middle of the night while I was working. Didn't even have the balls to say goodbye."

She pauses while the waitress puts a new drink in front of her and takes away the empty glass.

"Came back a month later and begged me to take him back."

She sips, her lipstick leaving a print on the glass.

"I did, then dumped his sorry ass when he least expected it."

Her smile is slow and bitter. "He still calls me."

She doesn't look her age, appearing at least ten years younger in torn jeans and a black tank top.

"God, he was cute." She smiles. "So unbelievably angry, and yet so sweet underneath."

Drinking espresso in a nearly empty cafe, she taps her sneakered foot to an imaginary beat.

"He would have slayed dragons for me." Her smile turns wistful. "He just couldn't grow up for me."

"He was drop dead gorgeous." She says, her eyes wide. "But it was worse than that."

She's skimming the spines of the books on the shelf in the bookstore with one finger, almost absently.

"He was clever, and funny, and intelligent. A lethal combination in itself."

She stops walking, a faint smile curving her lips. "He looked so sad when I touched his hand."

Then she shakes her head, focusing on the books in front of her again.

"But, he decided he couldn't control his urges around me, and that he couldn't live not being in control. So he won't see me in person."

She shoots a quick look at me and shrugs one shoulder. "I'm going to keep trying, though. I can't stand not knowing."

She laughs infectiously, throwing her head back. "It's such a cliché!" She exclaims.

"I'm not sure I even want to tell you." She looks uncertain for a moment, then nods.

"He's my best friend. Has been for 15 years. I've been in love with him for at least half that time."

Her smile is tender, loving. "We'll never be together. We both agreed that. We love each other and know that no matter what we'll always have the other person."

She shakes her head. "He doesn't want to screw that up."

"I'd like the chance, though."

She's impossibly shy, and hardly meets my eyes. "He's really intense." Her voice is soft and hard to hear.

"He's a writer, you see." She says, as if that explains everything.

"He loves women. All of them." Her hands are folded tightly in her lap.

"He says he loves me, but I'm afraid to trust that. Because how long would it be until he found someone else?"

She never smiles.

"But... It's nice for now, isn't it?"

She has very dark, intense eyes. Her hair is a wild mane around her face. Her words are fast and clipped.

"I didn't even want to meet him at first, you know?"

Her red nails click on the tabletop rapidly, in time to her speech.

"Blind date, set up by a friend of a friend. Hate blind dates. But I went, 'cause I figured, free dinner, right?"

Click click click.

"I never figured that it'd be instant. That connection."

She laughs. "He's nothing like me, you know? Total opposites. But somehow it works."

Her laughter is high and quick.

"A blind date. Who knew, right?"

She has a dreamy look to her, as if she's not quite secure in reality. The notebook in front of her is filled with random doodles, with meaning to no one but her.

"I haven't met him yet." She admits. "I'm holding out."

Her pen skates over the page, drawing what seem to be random lines.

"I know what I want. And I'm positive he exists. Somewhere."

More lines, and suddenly a drawing of a face begins to emerge.

"So I'm just going to keep waiting until he finds me. I know he will."

Her pen stops and she frowns down at the face on the page.

"He has to."