So Many Words Get Lost. They Leave

Mom?" I Said. She Turned. "can I Talk To You About Something?" "of Course, Darling. Come Here." I Took A Few Steps Into The Room. There Was So Much I Wanted To Say. "i Need You To Be --" I Said, And Then I Started To Cry. "be What?" She Said, Opening Her Arms. "not Sad," I Said.

My First Novel, 'man Walks Into A Room,' Is About A Man Who's Lost His Memory And Has To Start A Second Life. On One Level, It's About How We Create A Coherent Sense Of Self.

She Struggled With Her Sadness, But Tried To Conceal It, To Divide It Into Smaller And Smaller Parts And Scatter These In Places She Thought No One Would Find Them.

I Finally Understood That No Matter What I Did, Or Who I Found, I-he-none Of Us-would Ever Be Able To Win Over The Memories She Had Of Dad, Memories That Soothed Her Even While They Made Her Sad, Because She'd Built A World Out Of Them She Knew How To Survive On Even If No One Else Could.

Even Now, All Possible Feelings Do Not Yet Exist, There Are Still Those That Lie Beyond Our Capacity And Our Imagination. From Time To Time, When A Piece Of Music No One Has Ever Written Or A Painting No One Has Ever Painted, Or Something Else Impossible To Predict, Fathom Or Yet Describe Takes Place, A New Feeling Enters The World. And Then, For The Millionth Time In The History Of Feeling, The Heart Surges And Absorbs The Impact.