Words fail me sometimes. I have read most every word in the Webster’s International Dictionary of the English Language, but I still have trouble making them come when I want them to. Right now I want a word that describes the feeling you get – a cold sick feeling deep down inside – when you know something is happening that will change you, and you don’t want it to, but you can’t stop it. And you know you will never be the same again.

Because just for a few seconds, someone else hurts, too. For just a few seconds, I'm not alone.

She was everything he wanted from his life, the very measure of his dreams.

Happiness was useless to me. It was heartache that filled my purse. What happy man has need of Shakespeare?

Funny, 'ow you can 'old a jewel in your 'and, and toss it away, and not even know what you 'ad until it's gone.

On those nights, the words were for me alone. They came up unbidden from my heart. They spilled over my tongue and spilled out my mouth. And because of them, I, who was nothing and nobody, was a prince of Denmark, a maid of Verona, a queen of Egypt. I was a sour misanthrope, a beetling hypocrite, a conjurer's daughter, a mad and murderous king.

A new word. Bright with possibilities. A flawless pearl to turn over and over in my hand, then put away for safekeeping.