Findings:

Here's the stuff we found when you searched for "She couldn't find anyone that knew her, she couldn't remember if there was anyone who did."

She was a committed romantic and an anarcha-feminist. This was hard for her because it meant she couldn't blow up beautiful buildings.
Her innocence fell. She kicked at it some, frowned, and left it there because it was beautiful.
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
I remember when it was me who made her skin flush
She was thinking of a boy in California who had a couch and a job
She knew what she was doing
Her self image was not the force field she imagined it to be
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.
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.
All the while he was talking she was thinking what his whiskers would feel like on the back of her neck
I remember when it was me who made her toilet flush
She always was devious in her beauty
Anyone who tells you there is only one correct way to write a novel is trying to sell you a book.
She was inside the music, with her eyes closed
She grew a little older, while he was telling her
i hope there are those in this world who know what a gift it is to have anyone that knows the whole of their heart
She was so quiet that nobody heard her
She was the prettiest, loveliest cat at the ball and she had upon her fine gilded whiskers.
Fast-talking career gal who thought she was one of the boys
To a girl who thought she was moving away
He stretched out his arms but she was not there
She couldn't imagine that he liked dancing
she couldn’t go and be beautiful
Existentialism is that girlfriend who cheated on you. Postmodernism is who she was with.
there was a time when you couldn't just learn things instantly
She was never mine. I always shared her.
The emotion on her face was always the one that she was feeling in her heart
She was the cutest necromancer I ever did see
She who leaves men as flaming wrecks in the ditch on the side of the road in her wake, yea, even submarines
She was most amazed by the obvious, like January and the fact that I could not possibly keep her.
it was just as if she held her breath for 82 years
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.
A dose of mystery slipped into her cocktail while she was in the ladies' room
little pieces of her tragically poetic attempts at being loved that she was startlingly aware of, today
you never once told her how beautiful she was nor how much you truly loved her
I gave her my heart, she tore it apart, and who gives a fart.
I stared into the muddled sky with tears running down my face in small rivers, and I knew then that there was no hope
And she, with her beautiful words and such a fire burning inside
serene. She sips her tea
She who makes the Moon the Moon and, whenever she is full, sets the dogs to howling all night long, and me with them.
Her grief is still too young to behave itself, so she never lets it out
i gave her my heart. she gave me a pen.
She found her bliss between the headphones, and pursed her lips.
She Who Is
When she was bad
Jessica, too tall but still lovely, was not sure she would or should drop the whale
At night, her eyes closed, she would
She plugs her tears in the way you'd keep a dam from breaking
She thought about giving him her heart
When she sleeps, is she not moving her legs aside for an unknown garrison?
She said her father died of cancer in the sixties
She asked me to read her a poem
She sat in virginal white, eyes closed, with only her face in rose
She was steady
The flowers smiled, but she was gone
Anyone could know just by watching her silent moves
She always was all tea and oranges that came all the way from China
When she was new, she rolled around the sky like a black umbrella blown by the wind
There's no room in my life for anyone to stay
There is likely no one left who remembers
I haven't seen her in a month. She is still beautiful.
I don't tell her these things, and she doesn't ask
does she need to touch her own face to know?
She does not take her trip. She does not shout out loud.
I don't think she even knows that I make her smile
She bruised her knee. This is how we met.
She picked herself up, wiping away at her dignity
She gets caught in the little world beneath her sheets
She always confused her greys with white.
She keeps her lies everywhere
why she makes her wishes at 7:07
I don't like her because she won't like me
Who am I to critique that which she is?
What the hell was she thinking?
Is anyone out there?
I can't think of anyone who could appreciate more than me your eyes and your voice
Any woman who thinks she is pro-life should ask herself
She remembers the stars
He dreamt he was a bulldozer, she dreamt she was alone in an empty bed
To anyone who this may have hurt, please forgive me. The darkness keeps calling and I must go.
She was cilantro, jalapeño, habanero. She was the hot plate you must not touch.
She was a Surrealist Woman, She was like a Figure in a Dream
Don't patronize anyone who temporarily rents a store
The virgin was looking apprehensive about the whole ordeal, but for the right amount of cash anyone will take on a horse
I'm sorry I was speeding, officer, but I really have to get to the hospital
There were only twelve raindrops, she counted them on the windshield under heavy soft skies
She started to fall, and knew she would never come back
She ties regrets around her fingers like forget-me-knots
She does not rustle but her flesh has the moonlit shade of a silver birch
When she woke up, her hands were still dreaming
They walk around her like she is in danger of breaking
He touched her once and she turned into a golden creature. He never touched her again.
I come home, she lifted up her wings. I guess that this must be the place.
She is the queen of accidental magic. Her used kleenexes, taken by the wind, become soulful ghosts.
She said, while hugging a bowl of turnips close to her bosom
She Will Have Her Way: The Songs Of Tim & Neil Finn
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 practices her speech
I knew I couldn't build a cat
The last girl I dated was a vegetarian. We couldn't go anywhere and so it just didn't work out.
She smokes. It wraps around her wrists and clings to her neck.
I couldn't sit, it was Thursday
She, the Last Leviathan. She, the Station Agent. Chin on her Palm, she Watches Every Departure.
A girl I know had her jaw wired shut, and she vomited.
She Will Have Her Way
She wears her failed relationships like a shield
"He was a terrible man," she sobbed, between bites of alimony
When that cow would walk it was like she was dancing
And only those who had been there knew the whole truth.
I couldn't possibly be the only one who doesn't see empathy as a curse
For a lawyer she was surprisingly like a child. Sometimes.
She just sat there
She was locked in time
She was very beautiful. Y'know?
She dreamt she was a bulldozer, she dreamt she was alone in an empty field
She moved so easily all I could think of was sunlight
piano outside in the snow. and she was spinning
we couldn't find the address
The boy who couldn't look at himself
She Who Holds the Sky
She was an intellectual prostitute, seducing me with profound truisms
I told her I couldn't sleep
She was the seed of a strange tomorrow
The Abridged Edition: She was to one side, he was to the other, an untested bridge between them
It was too late by the time the robots came and I couldn't, I just couldn't
She was so pleased to learn that she was right
She was buttery. She was asking for it. She was delicious. Let's all give in.
I knew she wasn't faking
Her perception of how gorgeous she is will be evident in her lack of movement during sex
She asked me to copy my poem into her notebook
remember when computers couldn't walk?
Robert Lionel Fanthorpe fills up the word count in a science fiction novel: she brushed her teeth
She opened her eyes and spoke in a very normal voice, just as if she were sane
It was the Fourth Verse that they couldn't deal with
She calls him Sugarcane. He calls her Hurricane.
It happened to everyone else; she swore it wouldn't to her
What's she gonna look like with a chimney on her?
The portion of her face she allows me to see
She is so beautiful, I gave up Nihilism for her
They did not forgive us, she thought. We will surely die.
She flies with her own wings
You can play with my ex-girlfriend, but treat her like the lady that she is.
In the end it did not matter. The ocean was still there.
She opened her eyes, looked at a world made entirely of white light
I did not need it. I was strong. I was steady. I knew what I was doing.
My grandma died yesterday. Did she die?
Since she whom I lov'd hath paid her last debt
I did not miss what my body did not remember, until it was reminded
Sometimes the apathy she saw made her want to curl up and cry
Veronica loves manipulating her vagina until she explodes
Seems I might have stolen the blue part of her rainbow, but all I really did was make it bigger, a way bigger blue
Would you like to penetrate her shell, insinuating yourself among the pages of the books she is reading?
she had already found her party
while she sleeps, i write myself into her life
You put a hand on her hip, she permits it.
I told her I could read her mind, but she didn't believe me. I could tell.
Some nights, alone, he thinks of her, and some nights, alone, she thinks of him
She didn't wave goodbye so much as slightly raise her hand
She disappeared as if he had only dreamed her
She knows no truth except her own.
She is the sea. Above her, he is thunder.
Well, what happened? Did she succeed?
Because I still love her, because I know she still loves me.
She is willing to attempt to retrieve the data. Go with her.
She asked me if I loved her and I showed her the tattoo
she gave her heart to a falling star
I would have attempted to draw her if she had stayed that way.
She nicknamed her vagina "Crusty"
She Called in Her Soul to Come and See
the way she wears her weary
she lit her thumb on fire
She will remember your heart when men are fairy tales in books written by rabbits
wake up and find her still there
if you fear spells, look away when she decides to share her hair with the wind.
Seriously, though, who the hell did I think I was going to become?
I don't remember what her name was so let's call her Doris
she can't remember what it's like to be found
there was more poetry in her shopping lists than in any of my rhymes
She told me she remembers three things about me
Her sleeves ride up on her arms when she moves
I remember, there was one
I remember when it was me who made you want to take over the world and enslave humanity
Somewhere there is one who remembers.
she left her handwriting all over the calendar

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