Findings:

Here's the stuff we found when you searched for "She doesn't like to be reminded of when she hurt her sister"

I would have liked thunder when she left
she can't remember what it's like to be found
You can play with my ex-girlfriend, but treat her like the lady that she is.
She wears her failed relationships like a shield
When she shouts BE QUIET THE NEIGHBORS WILL HEAR IF YOU'RE NOT QUIET
When she was new, she rolled around the sky like a black umbrella blown by the wind
It must be morning when she dreams.
I don't tell her these things, and she doesn't ask
She doesn't look like Mother anymore
All the while he was talking she was thinking what his whiskers would feel like on the back of her neck
She doesn't like you
They walk around her like she is in danger of breaking
if you fear spells, look away when she decides to share her hair with the wind.
She was most amazed by the obvious, like January and the fact that I could not possibly keep her.
Her self image was not the force field she imagined it to be
She must be what cocaine is like
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
I don't like her because she won't like me
What's she gonna look like with a chimney on her?
Her perception of how gorgeous she is will be evident in her lack of movement during sex
Would you like to penetrate her shell, insinuating yourself among the pages of the books she is reading?
When she woke up, her hands were still dreaming
I come home, she lifted up her wings. I guess that this must be the place.
She ties regrets around her fingers like forget-me-knots
I was throwing around useless proverbs when all she needed was to be held and told that she was beautiful
She may be pretty and have more money than me but she doesn't write songs about you.
When I look into her eyes, I no longer care about what the world thinks. This is what it feels like to be alive.
When she sleeps, is she not moving her legs aside for an unknown garrison?
When that cow would walk it was like she was dancing
Her sleeves ride up on her arms when she moves
while she sleeps, i write myself into her life
She does not take her trip. She does not shout out loud.
She had incongruity for breakfast because she felt like it
She couldn't imagine that he liked dancing
She sat in virginal white, eyes closed, with only her face in rose
She tells stories as if she knows what the ending will be.
Since she whom I lov'd hath paid her last debt
His face when she fell
When she was bad
She was a Surrealist Woman, She was like a Figure in a Dream
she had already found her party
It happened to everyone else; she swore it wouldn't to her
A dose of mystery slipped into her cocktail while she was in the ladies' room
She always confused her greys with white.
She, the Last Leviathan. She, the Station Agent. Chin on her Palm, she Watches Every Departure.
She teaches a night class. Psychology 100, to be precise.
Her grief is still too young to behave itself, so she never lets it out
She wore a bit more makeup than he generally liked
She felt like the word 'shatter'
She told me I looked like a Henry, and this is how she would know me
She doesn't need me anymore
when she saw the funny side, we introduced my child bride to whisky and gin
There's a sign on the wall. But she wants to be sure. Cause you know sometimes words have two meanings.
She is stupidly keeping herself a secret, when I know she has sparkly things to show me
She tastes like gingerbread, too.
she left her handwriting all over the calendar
She gets caught in the little world beneath her sheets
The portion of her face she allows me to see
She does not rustle but her flesh has the moonlit shade of a silver birch
She grew a little older, while he was telling her
She was inside the music, with her eyes closed
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.
She was too beautiful to be human
She picked herself up, wiping away at her dignity
She calls him Sugarcane. He calls her Hurricane.
Once upon a time, I imagined she would be a river
She Had to Be Sure
She had fingernails that shined like justice
Spinning shapes like a song out of order. In the dark she can see fireflies.
someday, when she will think back upon the time when she was as yet undishonored
She is lobbing rainbows at me from across the room and I am swallowing them like fear.
She Liked Horses, and Flowers That Smell Pink
She crashed her car trying to avoid a butterfly
And when she turned into a man, we were so proud
I'm sorry I was speeding, officer, but I really have to get to the hospital
The Introverted Thinker hurts her sister
She bruised her knee. This is how we met.
serene. She sips her tea
She was a committed romantic and an anarcha-feminist. This was hard for her because it meant she couldn't blow up beautiful buildings.
The emotion on her face was always the one that she was feeling in her heart
does she need to touch her own face to know?
If she were an insect, she'd be a moth in search of a flame
She Will Have Her Way: The Songs Of Tim & Neil Finn
If you meet a strange, confident woman, she may well be a witch
She who leaves men as flaming wrecks in the ditch on the side of the road in her wake, yea, even submarines
At night, her eyes closed, she would
She found her bliss between the headphones, and pursed her lips.
I like it when I dream of her. It's the only time we get to talk.
She disappeared as if he had only dreamed her
How to be strong for her, when all you want is to depend on her
She is the sea. Above her, he is thunder.
You put a hand on her hip, she permits it.
She keeps her lies everywhere
She smokes. It wraps around her wrists and clings to her neck.
All the things she had at one point wanted to be
She doesn't really want a nice guy
She could be a businesswoman
She said her father died of cancer in the sixties
she couldn’t go and be beautiful
Robert Lionel Fanthorpe fills up the word count in a science fiction novel: she brushed her teeth
you never once told her how beautiful she was nor how much you truly loved her
She had eyes like the Blue Screen of Death
She Came and Went Like Wind (A Selkie Story)
She was like a candle in the wind: unreliable
When you fly like thunder, I am reminded of Icarus and Bellerophon. How does your myth end?
She said I dreamed like dead men
she likes to dance on the edge. it's all she's known and she won't change now
She could run a spiel like nobody's business. She could sell the world and make you wish for more.
she made them, like fire, expansible over all space
She is like an onion
She will remember your heart when men are fairy tales in books written by rabbits
She writes like the wind moves
She dumped me when she found out I'd been faking my Scottish accent
She doesn't know what he sees, but sometimes it makes his face beautiful
She is what happens when silence makes love with night.
She bought a new smile every week when we first started seeing each other. Then I had to buy them.
She just stares at us like we're crazy
And when she came back she was nobody's wife
She really does want to clap along, but at the same time she doesn't want to let the bird get out.
Just because she's nice to you doesn't mean she wants to fuck you
She doesn't need you, she wants you.
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.
Venus, when she is the evening star
She hit me like thunder, and I had to lie down until I could breathe again
The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne
Each thing she learned became part of herself, to be used over and over in new adventures
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.
She flies with her own wings
She thought about giving him her heart
Sometimes the apathy she saw made her want to curl up and cry
He touched her once and she turned into a golden creature. He never touched her again.
She was never mine. I always shared her.
She opened her eyes and spoke in a very normal voice, just as if she were sane
She asked me to copy my poem into her notebook
She always was devious in her beauty
Her innocence fell. She kicked at it some, frowned, and left it there because it was beautiful.
She is so beautiful, I gave up Nihilism for her
She opened her eyes, looked at a world made entirely of white light
She is the queen of accidental magic. Her used kleenexes, taken by the wind, become soulful ghosts.
I don't think she even knows that I make her smile
She plugs her tears in the way you'd keep a dam from breaking
And she, with her beautiful words and such a fire burning inside
it was just as if she held her breath for 82 years
Veronica loves manipulating her vagina until she explodes
why she makes her wishes at 7:07
Some nights, alone, he thinks of her, and some nights, alone, she thinks of him
the way she wears her weary
A tentative laugh, she expected to be interrupted
She didn't wave goodbye so much as slightly raise her hand
i gave her my heart. she gave me a pen.
She Will Have Her Way
She is willing to attempt to retrieve the data. Go with her.
little pieces of her tragically poetic attempts at being loved that she was startlingly aware of, today
She was so quiet that nobody heard her
she lit her thumb on fire
If I'd have shot her when I met her, I'd be out of jail by now.
She knows no truth except her own.
She practices her speech
Because I still love her, because I know she still loves me.
I told her I could read her mind, but she didn't believe me. I could tell.
A girl I know had her jaw wired shut, and she vomited.
she can scream so loud you'll be looking for your ears on the floor
She Called in Her Soul to Come and See
I like to be reminded this city survives because of these machines.
she gave her heart to a falling star
She asked me if I loved her and I showed her the tattoo
I would have attempted to draw her if she had stayed that way.
I gave her my heart, she tore it apart, and who gives a fart.
She was the prettiest, loveliest cat at the ball and she had upon her fine gilded whiskers.
She nicknamed her vagina "Crusty"
She asked me to read her a poem
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 said, while hugging a bowl of turnips close to her bosom
she gave herself that holocaust haircut. cinnamon colored clippings cover the motel bedspread like sprinkles.
It will be a love story ... for she will be my heroine for all time
For a lawyer she was surprisingly like a child. Sometimes.
She tasted like whiskey and blood and cemetery dirt.
Surah 60 She that is to be Examined
She is like a kaleidoscope, a strange attractor, a superstition
I haven't seen her in a month. She is still beautiful.

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