Maybe it’s the heat, the time of the year… recollections do seem to be running high in my head, as well… but perhaps it was the drive, noticing the places where we had stopped to fight, or the places we had always wanted to go, but never had… maybe it was stopping at the same motels as in the past and still forgetting to bring things out of the room in the morning,… maybe it’s the smell of the baking northern californian landscape, the scent of the air as it changes as Mt. Shasta looms beautifully and ominously, or the site of the Big Dipper perfectly framed in the front window of the car. Maybe it was eating again at restaurant first stopped at on a whim and enjoying the taste of langos and magyar coffee, or maybe it was finally stopping on I-5 to take that photograph… maybe it was the lack of fights, the serenity and peace, the wild abandon and whims that finally caught up after 3 years of giving chase. Maybe it was simply coming home and being just that, home… … the joy and happiness I’ve had in the last two months has only been paralleled once in my life, and that time was also with you. For taking me along with you and being excited about it, for the effort and trying and caring, and most of all for loving me with all the passion I feel for you… thank you. I love you.
The paradox of love is that it is supremely free yet attaches us with bonds stronger than death.
— Catherine Wybourne, Benedictine nun
Seek And Find. Maybe.
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