How fortunate am I to adore something so completely it makes me ache. To feel sore from using the muscles of my heart so entirely. How rapturing to want so certainly a future full of this that I’m almost afraid to look. How desperately lucky am I to care so profoundly it eats me alive.

This is what is most true and most worthwhile. I could allow the cold fingers of anticipation to crawl up my shivered spine and rob me of the warmth of your recent proximity. I could allow my truest fears to whisper sweet somethings in my ear and unravel me. The future is not certain, that is always so, and nothing is promised, not even something so divine.

But each day unfolds before me in a courteous bow. It seems the world itself is singing its praises. What more can anyone ask for than the blessing of the sun and stars themselves? It seems right, and there’s no reason I should make that wrong. There will be things to be sorted and questions to be answered and much to figure out. But these are opportunities I take pleasure in knowing. How fortunate am I? So fortunate we can be.