And sometimes, he was less lucid. He'd run around his cell like a caged animal; he'd rock back and forth; he'd swing from topic to topic as if it was the only way to cross the jungle of his thoughts.

We could all be lucky. We could all be what we want to be, instead of who someone else told us to be.

As it turns out, you can function while your heart is being torn to shreds.

It feels like a punch. Tears fill my eyes, and I wonder how I could be upset over losing something I never had.

How do you tell an adult that maybe everything wrong in the world stems from the fact that she's stopped believing the impossible can happen?

You can argue that it's a different world now than the one when Matthew Shepard was killed, but there is a subtle difference between tolerance and acceptance. It's the distance between moving into the cul-de-sac and having your next door neighbor trust you to keep an eye on her preschool daughter for a few minutes while she runs out to the post office. It's the chasm between being invited to a colleague's wedding with your same-sex partner and being able to slow-dance without the other guests whispering.

there's something nice about knowing that i'm not the only one who doesn't quite fit the part.