I was draped over his side sprawled on the couch, exhausted with salty streaks down my face. We’d both been crying.
“Why does it seem that love is easier for everyone else?”
“The world doesn’t know love. As soon as the other person stops making them happy, they want out. That isn’t love. Who do we know that has experienced an easy path to love? Dave and Amy? Will and Laura? Devon and Chris?”
I know all of their stories and he is right. The pain each of them went through to love each other was raw and real and hard. I had forgotten. Love is so often a choice, much more than a feeling. Love is perfect but the objects of our love are not, so choosing is hard.
The sorrow ceases and we descend into smiles, silliness and laughter, marveling at the drastic difference from just 10 minutes earlier. What lightness truth brings.
Undertaking the translation of music and art into graphic design for the good of people and the beautification of things seen and unseen