Natalie Scatorccio measured her whole life in Wildflowers. She plucked daisies and poppies and violets from meadows and twirled them between finger and thumb. To carry home, pressed between old pages, a habit developed to stay sane more than anything else. To force herself to remember moments she buried too deeply to be seen. A measure of all the times love had made her suffer. Love would never be kind to Natalie. Or When Natalie Scatorccio turned fourteen she vowed she would never love. On July 1st, 1995, she broke her promise.