One could pick apart love, examine every filament of attraction, and still it would never be fully explained. It simply was.

So are you bisexual?” I had asked, and Todd had laughed at my insistence on label. “I guess I'm bipossible,” he had said.

The truth is, you can never really know a man until you've loaned him money. And you can never know a woman until you've slept in her bed.

Everyone striving to be witty and sought-after, everyone talking and no one listening.

Perhaps only those who had loved and lost could appreciate this magic.

Thomas Bowman's toupee, alas, was never found. He was somewhat mollified by the gift of a very fine hat from Westcliff on Christmas day.

...just a little touches her and there. He puts his hands on your arms or back, he stands close to you, getting you used to him... it's a mating ritual. Like March of the Penguins.