There's no better way to get to know a person than through their art.

It's as if Mom was expressing herself in a language other than English; a language that Grandma wouldn't be able to interpret simply by looking at the music notes.

I can almost feel the wind beneath my wings; I can almost taste the thrill of flying away from this small town and never looking back.

Maybe she knew some day it would become my job. My job to complete the melody she had begun.

I'm just as big a fool as the rest of them.

I wondered if this was how it felt to sell your soul to the devil. I bet there were awesome cookies in hell, too.