Rejection Is A Cancer, Edie.

She Either Confused Me With A Much Older Child Or Else She Glimpsed Deep Inside My Soul And Perceived A Hole That Needed Filling. I've Always Chosen To Believe The Latter. After All, It's The Librarian's One Sworn Purpose To Bring Books Together With Their One True Reader.

Round And Round The Questions Flew, Until Finally I Found Myself Standing At The Open Door Of A Bookshop. It’s Natural In Times Of Great Perplexity, I Think, To Seek Out The Familiar, And The High Shelves And Long Rows Of Neatly Lined-up Spines Were Immensely Reassuring. Amid The Smell Of Ink And Binding, The Dusty Motes In Beams Of Strained Sunlight, The Embrace Of Warm, Tranquil Air, I Felt That I Could Breathe More Easily.

His Words Had Tossed The Book That Was Her Life Into The Air And The Pages Had Been Blown Into Disarray, Could Never Be Put Back Together To Tell The Same Story.

Memory Is A Cruel Mistress With Whom We All Must Learn To Dance.

In Real Life Turning Points Are Sneaky. They Pass By Unlabeled And Unheeded. Opportunities Are Missed, Catastrophes Unwittingly Celebrated. Turning Points Are Only Uncovered Later, By Historians Who Seek To Bring Order To A Lifetime Of Tangled Moments.