She was so busy forgetting, she couldn't take a single step into the future.

That was the way love was, invisible, there whether or not you wanted to see it or admit to it.

I wrote to find beauty and purpose, to know that love is possible and lasting and real, to see day lilies and swimming pools, loyalty and devotion, even though my eyes were closed, and all that surrounded me was a darkened room. I wrote because that was who I was at the core, and if I was too damaged to walk around the block, I was lucky all the same. Once I got to my desk, once I started writing, I still believed anything was possible.

Before she realized he was next to her, he had placed his hands over hers on the countertop, then hooped his fingers through hers. Gretel looked up at him, so startled she might as well have been shot. 'I just wanted to wake you up', he said. Which is exactly what he did. One look at him and her heart was racing. One look, and whatever had been before was all over.

I wasn't good company, that was true, and people avoided me, but that was all right. I was too busy dreaming.

Being an outsider is the one thing we all have in common.

When all is said and done, the weather and love are the two elements about which one can never be sure.