Love. Oh, yes.

I've been married three times. Once for talent, once for beauty and once for charm and I was madly in love with each of them for a time. My life has been filled with love and passion so bright it could have blazed right off of a movie screen. Too many lovers to remember. Many proposals. Many affairs, but never with a man who was involved with another woman. One of my strict rules. Men from every walk of life, of many different cultures. Men so handsome they took your breath away. Men that other's viewed as plain but I saw more in. Men who were less than perfect but walked around with that attitude that just made you want them. Every size and shape and flavor. And romance? Diamonds and roses and houses and cars. Travel and settings so mysterioous and wonderful...hearing my song played on my birthday in a resturant that spun above the city in circles...

And then there was him. The love of my life. We had a year and a half together that has lasted a lifetime. Thirty years later I am still so madly in love with him that just the thought of him still makes me smile.

And then there was reality. Alcoholics and addicts, cheaters and liars. Abusers of every ilk. Thieves and stalkers (once by a serial killer) and madmen. Heart breakers and haters and those that just disappeared one day.

Does love exist like the love and romance portrayed in the movies? For me, most of my life. Does it last? Only for the lucky few, I think. Do I have any regrets? Only one. And his name will be on my lips as I take my last breath.

Will I ever write my own story? Never! Who would believe it?