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.

It can take years to mold a dream. It takes only a fraction of a second for it to be shattered.

...and time becomes a forgotten detail.

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.

I thought grandmothers had to like you. It’s a law or something.

There is something about her eyes. Eyes don't breathe. I know that much. But hers look breathless.

He believes me. But that is nothing new. He always did because I was a rule follower. I played by the rules he understood. But there are new rules now, ones he doesn't know yet. He'll learn. Just as I'm learning.