Prologue
I’ve been touched by love before, felt its fingers caress my soul. Filling me up inside till I thought there would never be space to feel anything else. But here I lie on the cold hexagon tile of the bathroom floor, no second line, no second chance. I stare blankly out the wavy glass of the old brick apartment window, creating a distorted view of the golden leaves blown harshly, then trembling, in the crisp October breeze - And I oddly relate to those leaves—barely clinging on, flailing helplessly against the inevitable wind. And I suddenly realize that this season is called fall because, for the third autumn in my life, everything is falling apart.
