We Can't Live Other People's Lives For

Nothing Was Easier To Shatter Than The Fragile Shield Of An Idealist.

Nina Knew The Power Of Black And White Images. Sometimes A Thing Was Its Truest Self When The Colors Were Stripped Away.

It's Not Intentions That Matter. It's Actions. We Are What We Do And Say, Not What We Intend To.

He Was Afraid That The Secrets She'd Kept Would Always Be Here, Inside Him, An Ugly Malignant Thing Lodged Near Enough To His Heart To Upset Its Rhythm, And Though It Could Be Removed, Cut Out, There Would Always Be Scars; Bits And Pieces Of It Would Remain In His Blood, Making It Wrong Somehow, So That If He Accidentally Sliced His Skin Open, His Blood Would--for One Heartbeat--flow As Black As India Ink Before It Remembered That It Should Be Red.

It Is A Kiss That, Once Begun, Never Really Ends. Interrupted, Yes. Paused, Certainly. But From That Very Moment Onward, Vera Sees The Whole Of Her Life As Only A Breath Away From Kissing Him Again. On That Night In The Park, They Begin The Delicate Task Of Binding Their Souls Together, Creating A Whole Comprising Their Separate Halves.