Prolog - Can you love the world in its cold grief?
It is cold today. in particular.
he loved the cold. once, when I asked him why would he love this frozen, dead season of the year, he looked up to the sky, let the rain soak in his clothes, and said that if you cannot love the world in its cold grief, you don't deserve to love it when it blooms.
he loved everything, fire and sun, the lightning and the earth..
he was so very forgien to me, who never knew love.
so he told me about the way the moon winks at him, the cold touch of gray stones, the pureness of the wind.
spent hours describing the clouds, the ocean with its enormous waves, the healing power of water.
the air.. he loved the air. "more then keeping us alive," he used to say, "it gives us reassurance that we should, in fact, be alive in the first place."
in his endless, infinite attempts to teach me the nature of love, I don't think he ever knew that he did made me fall in love. with him.
