For she was a child, throwing bread to the ducks, between her parents who stood by the lake, holding her life in her arms which, as she neared them, grew larger and larger in her arms, until it became a whole life, a complete life, which she put down by them and said, "This is what I have made of it! This!" And what had she made of it? What, indeed?

Air grew heavy, damp, almost solid. I was breathing bricks.

It hurt when I lost each of the various men I fell in love with. Now, though, I am convinced that no one loses anyone, because no one owns anyone.

I&#39;m a big fan of the misunderstood, the vilified, the underdog, the breaking of myths.

Written By Dominic Monaghan

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