Very, very rarely do you meet someone who makes you stop and take inventory of what you're actually like, who you actually are. We're all very self-conscious, we'll admit, but not so much so that we worry too intensely about our character and the stuff that really matters, the stuff that should mean more than money or the size of your house. It might be that we feel that our character will take care of itself in time. It can't get to where it needs to be overnight. Those kinds of things just need to work themselves out and there will be bruises and busted lips, black eyes and reddened faces. We'll think about what we're wearing, how our hair looks, what we smell like, first. We don't spend many licks on the stuff we keep mostly to ourselves, or give out to those special few, the lucky ones. It's one of those things where - when it's done, with a here-goes-nothing sigh and a hail Mary, we feel like the lucky ones too, able to be sweet and to be vulnerable in the company of another without having to keep anything back and out of touch. We get tired of saving so much in our reserves, as common practice. It's a bothersome priority or cumbrance. Keegan DeWitt, as a man, as a writer and as a new husband, shares unconditionally of himself with us. He does this with those around him too. His lovely wife got herself a keeper and vice versa. He reminds us that settling for lackluster love shouldn't happen. He reminds us that hearts sometimes get it wrong, but they'll admit it. We've only seen a few of the photos from the wedding ceremony that happened at the top of the month and it looked as if it was one of the days that photography can't do justice to. We've not seen any of the snapshots from the honeymoon, but it's almost certain that DeWitt had etched on his face, the greatest smile that anyone's ever seen, having found his mate and best friend and being surrounded by ocean waters, sand and all of the free booze they could drink in a week. It probably hit him hard a few times over those seven days how wishes had come true, how calm and peaceful he was, there hand-in-hand with the person he's been seeking in his songs, with his words for years. He's been a life-long follower of the heart, looking to find the other one that matches with his. His songs have been filled with some dark forests and with many failures, but the circuitous path doesn't have to remain forever a divergent one. He sings about one of the flops in "Two Hearts," "I didn't know we were so far about," alluding to two people, lying in bed together and suddenly coming to the realization that they might as well be strangers, completely unfamiliar with the other, unwilling to spend another minute together. He sings, "Lay still/Touching ruins it all," suggesting that the losses just need to be cut, that the hearts just need to be separated, the sooner, the better - for they won't do it on their own, those pesky hearts. DeWitt's not there any longer and we should never be there again, there in his new house, with his beautiful bride. He is more in the state of "Thunder Clatter," one of his newest songs. He sings of a chance meeting, "I couldn't say what I was thinking/My heart shrinking/Two sad sparks blinking in the sun/Wait one minute/I had to listen for it/It was hidden in the fall/Waiting on love to call…/I hear it call in the center of it all/You're the love of my life/I hear it all in the center of my heart/You're the love of my life" It probably wasn't a chance meeting at all. It was bound for him.