He gently touched his mother's cheek, felt her sorrow slip over his fingertips.

We all know that a sky with clouds in it is much more interesting than one that doesn’t have any.

I thought of all the magazine article I'd read on mothers who worked and constantly felt guilty about leaving their children with someone else. I had trained myself to read pieces like that and silently say to myself, 'See how lucky you are?' But it had been gnawing at the inside, that part that didn't fit, that I never let myself even think about. After all, wasn't it a worse kind of guilt to be with your child and to know that you wanted to be anywhere but there?

My chest feels full of glitter and helium, the way it used to when I was little and riding my father's shoulders at twilight, when I knew that if I held up my hands and spread my fingers like a net, I could catch the coming stars.

To me, a good event is governed by the audience.

His hand is cool on my cheek as he paints a tear beneath my left eye, dark blue and swollen with sorrow.

Everyone still deserves to have their say.