She asked me if I had ever seen, first hand, what it’s like to fall out of love. I told her coldly, I had never been so lucky. She said, it isn’t luck if it leaves, and I said quietly, at least you saw it coming or going depending on the view I suppose. She said, the moral wasn’t in the arrival and it certainly wasn’t in the departure, it was in those moments left between. Then those moments I wondered but never asked, are those the moments where the love and the luck lie? So then what is the difference and when does one become another and is it not luck that brings us to love? Is it not luck that leads us slowly from love and inevitably to another source? Are you lucky if it’s love or is love the lucky part?