When I was little my grandfather hurt me. Years later, when my Mom could finally speak of it, she said, “He was just so full of love. I thought, “I’ve got no idea what it’s called but what he did was not love!”

Years later Grandpa died, leaving me a bit of money. It was a very small amount but it pulled on me as if I was carrying around a ton of contaminated earth. It was the exact amount of a necklace that dangled heavily with glass and metal hearts.

First I grew to appreciate Prokofiev, but now I am unable to do anything but listen – stone still. I can hardly breath, especially to Capulets and Montagues.