My God, he could never understand why she watched so many music documentaries, listened to so many eclectic songs, so many symphonies and just be flooded with emotions. He never got it. He never got her. He got bits and pieces of her, yet the rest was a mystery. She was his paradox. He'd sit and watch her get lost in a sonata, a Van Halen guitar solo, or simply a musician along Music Row. He never could understand how she did it. How, even though she was so different and foreign, that she could feel so much like home to him. So close to what he needed forever. She was his beautiful, mysterious, paradox.