“I play until my fingertips are raw. Until I rip a nail and bleed on the strings. Until my hands hurt so bad I forget my heart does.”

“Are you hurting anywhere else?" I asked, feeling so emotionally raw after the long night we'd had. He caught my wrist and pulled my hand down to press flat over his heart. "Here." "So am I." He kissed my fingertips, then linked our hands and led me...”

“I laughed until my fat hurt.”

“I play until my fingers are blue and stiff from the cold, and then I keep on playing. Until I'm lost in the music. Until I am the music--notes and chords, the melody and harmony. It hurts, but it's okay because when I'm the music, I'm not me. Not sad. Not afraid. Not desperate. Not guilty.”

“Her laugh was a travesty. Which made sense because in a way, so was his apology. But what was he supposed to say?I want you until I hurt. Until I sweat. I love you with a raw, bleeding need that I've never understood.And all I know for sure is that you can never be mine.”

“You never know how much you need music until you don't have it. I missed it so much my heart hurt.”