So This Had Been All I Wanted,

That Was The Hard Thing About Grief, And The Grieving. They Spoke Another Language, And The Words We Knew Always Fell Short Of What We Wanted Them To Say.

So Finally, I Decided That The Best Response — The Safest — Was None At All.

But If Something Was Really Important, Fate Made Sure It Somehow Came Back To You And Gave You Another Chance.

The Bottom Line Is, What Defines You Isn't How Many Times You Crash, But The Number Of Times You Get Back On The Bike. As Long As It's One More. You're All Good.

You Couldn't See The Key Around My Neck: It Hung Too Low Under Both Collars. But If I Leaned In Close, I Could Make It Out, Buried Deep Beneath. Out Of Sight, Hard To Recognize, But Still Able To Be Found, Even If I Was The Only One To Ever Look For It.