Yes, I'm often reminded of her, and in one of my array of pockets, I have kept her story to retell. It is one of the small legion I carry, each one extraordinary in its own right. Each one an attempt - an immense leap of an attempt - to prove to me that you, and your human existence, are worth it.

Better that we leave the paint behind," Hans told her, "than ever forget the music.

There were stars. They burned my eyes.

The paper landed on the table, but the news was stapled to his chest. A tattoo.

She was one if the few souls that made me wonder what's it to live.

Maybe one morning I’ll wake up and step outside of myself to look back at the old me lying dead among the sheets.

People die of broken hearts. They have heart attacks. And it's the heart that hurts most when things go wrong and fall apart.