it is amazin, she thinks, how simple appearances can be created - a rush, a smile, a new coat of paint, a slow, calm voice, a hug, a new dress - a resolve to keep out questions and cling to secrets

When your life has had few events to occupy it, it's amazing how a simple encounter can seem like an entire three-act play.

The world before us is a postcard, and I imagine the story we are writing on it.

Chance. It weaves through our lives like a golden thread, sometimes knotting, tangling, and breaking along the way. Loose threads are left hanging, but the in and out, the back and forth continues, the weaving goes on. It doesn't stop.

Pieces. Isn't that what all of life is anyway? Shards. Bits. Moments. Am I less because I have fewer, or do the few I have mean more?

Percentages! Those are for economists, polls, and politicians. Percentages can't define your identity.

But I am more than a name. More than they tell me