Here's the thing about luck...you don't know if it's good or bad until you have some perspective.

You can be betrayed in your sleep. The whole world can tilt while you're dreaming of butterflies.

I knew what it was to yearn for a life so distant it seemed that it had never been anything more than a dream.

My grandmother told me once that when you lose somebody you think you've lost the whole world as well, but that's not the way things turn out in the end. Eventually, you pick yourself up and look out the window, and once you do you see everything that was there before the world ended is out there still. There are the same apple trees and the same songbirds, and over our heads, the very same sky that shines like heaven, so far above us we can never hope to reach such heights.

My mother's blood that would last forever after. The blood of my brother, my grandfather, my father.

Only her death could prove her innocence; a circle of impossible, deathly judgement.

That's the way love sounds, my mother told me. You think it should feel like honey, but instead it cuts like a knife.