In that moment I felt I could see into every facet of my wife’s mind. If she had the ability, and if door frames had complex enough lives to warrant a family who would love and miss them in the event of their demise, she would send pieces of its body back to them in a methodical pattern. Then make wine from their tears. Instead of ever entertaining the notion that she may have just not looked where she was going. I was both in awe of and in deep fear of her. If this wasn’t love, it was damn close.
