When you had to do something, you had to do it. And eventually, if you were lucky, you did it well.

You know, feeling and action are always linked, one can't exist without the other. It's sort of a hippie thing.

[Adam picks up the camera] "I have to get a shot of this." The reaction in the room was swift, and unanimous: every single person except me raised their hands at once to cover their faces. The accompanying utterances, though, were varied. I heard everything from "Please no" (Maggie), to "Jesus Christ" (Wallace), to "Stop it or die" (I'm assuming it's obvious).

Some people, they can't just move on, you know, mourn and cry and be done with it. Or at least seem to be. But for me... I don't know. I didn't want to fix it, to forget. It wasn't something that was broken. It's just...something that happened. And like that hole, I'm just finding ways, every day, of working around it. Respecting and remembering and getting on at the same time.

So I just decided to relax into it, bumpy and crazy as it might be, and try for once to just go along for the ride.

I always tried to imagine what it would be like to open your door to find something you had given up on. Maybe it had seen places you never had, been rerouted and passed through so many strange hands, but still somehow found its way back to you, all before the day even began.

I reached up with my finger and traced the scar over my eyebrow, remembering when that was the greatest hurt I'd ever known.