This is going to hurt. And I’m sorry, but it needs to.
We know so little of love. We place it safe in our palms, away from the eyes of everyone else. We consult it briefly when a child is born, but squeeze it tighter in our fists to hide it from onlookers.
Hate, we open our fists for. We insult and physically harm without thought. We turn into generous creatures, giving of ourselves far more than we might have had we just known love. We change the very definitions of love and hate when we don’t want to face our own sins. Of which we have many. But we’re allowed to keep those to ourselves.
This is the story of Ezra Vasher. He loved passionately. Instinctively.
It didn’t matter. We need to remember. We need not forget.
ARE WE AS INTERESTING AS WE THINK WE ARE? “Charmed. Very hot weather we’ve been having of late—I mean cold. Let me see, I did not quite catch your name just now. Thank you so much. Yes, it is a bit close.” And a silence falls, neither of us being able to think what next to say. What has happened is this: My host has met me in the doorway, and…
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