About Love

This is love, isn’t it?
(photo - here)

When I looked at you,
my life made sense.
Even the bad things made sense.
They were necessary to make you possible.


There were things I wanted to tell him.
But I knew they would hurt him.
So I buried them, 
and let them hurt me.


This is love, she thought, isn’t it?
When you notice someone’s absence
and hate that absence more than anything?
More, even, than you love his presence?

~ Jonathan Safran Foer ~