Also Known as the Act of Creation

What Natalie wants more than anything else right now is to write a song for Henry. But she can't bring the right sounds to the piano.

Nothing she tries sounds enough like Henry. Some notes are too low, some are too high. Some notes are too happy, some are too sad. But there isn't a single one that's one hundred percent Henry.

So she tries working on lyrics first. That fails, too. There just isn't a word in the English language—or any language—for her boyfriend.

I'm such an idiot, she thinks. Writing songs is Henry's thing. Maybe I should just stick to Mozart.

But this song is the one thing she knows Henry will love, and she has to do write it. She'll write it even if it kills her.

So she keeps trying and trying and trying until she finds something somewhat decent. It's not Henry, but it's close.

When Henry's birthday rolls around, Natalie tells him she has a surprise for him, screws up the first note, and bursts into tears. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I just…I couldn't do it. I couldn't write this song."

"Shh," Henry mumbles, wrapping his arms around her. "It's perfect. I love it."