Those several weeks passed in a blur, and soon enough the weeks turned into months and the months became years. Sometimes, she felt better. Other times, she slipped back into those black moods where nothing could touch her at all, only she never felt so bad that she looked for another way out. Not again. She did well to remember George’s words. It would—and did– always hurt, and yet it was beautiful. Always, always beautiful. She’d had the words tattooed onto her left arm, and whenever she felt herself falling, she would run her fingers over the black ink and remind herself of where she had been, and of the one that had rescued her. It had been more than one of course, for all the animals had played a part, and yet it had been him who had found her in the darkness. And what became of our dear George? It’s hard to say for sure. The animals could tell you, but alas we wouldn’t have been able to understand their tongue—not in this time and place, anyhow. What is known is that George lived as he had done at the block of apartments until one morning in the spring, quite out of the blue, he simply vanished. X was distraught, and yet, strangely enough, she knew that one day their paths would meet again. She wasn’t sure how she knew, but she felt it in her gut, and although she missed him dearly, she knew he was still out there, no doubt helping some other lonely soul who had veered too close to the edge. She also knew that she would see him again—the one who had broken her heart. She made no effort in reaching out to him in much the same way he didn’t reach out to her. She wasn’t able to quite explain it, but it was there in that sensitive gut of hers. Some vague understanding that one day there would come a time when all their paths would cross in some great dance. And so the years turned like pages in a book, and although she became as lost as a leaf in the breeze, the vision of that great dance crystalised in her mind without her even knowing.