What is love if not two old people holding hands on a train, falling asleep on your shoulder, or watching you in the morning? Love is a dignified thing, held close to that peaceful song you listen to alone in the dark at night or next to your memories of being in a city by yourself. Love is a solitary thing you do in concert with the rest of the world. It is walking through the catacombs and looking at art in a museum. Love is about the ephemeral things in life and how striking they are in the short time that we have them.  Love is important and is closest we can get to resting in the shade of God – love and terror – and loss is the fullness of these things and the promise of eternity is a moment in time. Love reminds me of solitude, of sounds and light in train cars, pretty boulevards and rivers and old buildings. Love can be about two people but it’s also about being alone and reflecting on the beauty and miracle of the world, and of the yawning majesty of God. Love is something cold and light and clear like church bells in the morning. To share something like that is such a mercy.

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