There was something striking about a single key. It was like a question waiting to be answered, a whole missing a half. Useless on its own, needing something else to be truly defined.

closed my eyes and listened. It was like music I'd heard all my life, even more than "This Lullaby." All those keystrokes, all those letters, so many words. I brushed my fingers over the beads and watched as her image rippled, like it was on water, breaking apart gently and shimmering before becoming whole again.

I'd chosen instead to just change my route, go miles out of the way, as if avoiding it would make it go away once and for all.

And so we stood there in the kitchen, my mother and I, facing off over everything that had built up since June, when I was willing to hand myself over free and clear. Now I needed her to return it all to me, with the faith that I could make my own way.

Life has a way of disregarding even your best intentions.

Eventually, it wasn't even your dad I wanted, just anybody. Anybody at all.

There is never a time or place for true love. It happens accidentally, in a heartbeat, in a single flashing, throbbing moment.