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Which was the beauty of it, because, after all, they were their own little people! You were just a caretaker. They didn’t have to feel what you felt; they just had to be supported in feeling what they felt.
Which maybe that’s what love was: liking someone how he was and doing things to help him get even better.
It was that impossible thing: happiness that does not wilt to reveal the thin shoots of some new desire rising from within it.
