It’s a small lifetime that passes in the seconds it takes me to stand before him. It feels like our history, and in a way, maybe it is. Maybe that’s what makes love—all the moments, big and small. All the memories piled up one on top of the other, just like those Northern Lights that paint across the sky at the edge of the world. Maybe, when it comes down to it, love is in the act of living. It’s choosing—breathing—that person every single day. Me and you.
