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.
  

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There were things I wanted to tell him.

But I knew they would hurt him.

So I buried them, 

and let them hurt me.
  

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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 ~