The two of us warmed by a bold beam of light that wicks the moisture from my dress, my hair, and my skin—returning it to the sky where it promises to find me again in the form of dew, snow, or rain.

Well, it's nice to have a dream. But it's even nicer when there's a remote possibility of it coming true.

There is an old and very wise Native American saying: Every time you point a finger in scorn—there are three remaining fingers pointing right back at you.

I love you," I whisper. "And I love you." He smiles, his lips seeking mine. "Always have. Always will.

Have I ever told you how much I love you, Ever? Have I? Ever, Ever?

You left me." Not realizing until I've said my final good-bye and closed the door behind me, that he's not referring to the past. He's prophesying our future.

Miracles do occur, and it's never too late to turn your life around and reach for something better.