It’s overused. It’s a cliché. It’s corny. It’s just a line. It’s illogical. It’s troublesome. It’s always too abrupt. It’s never on cue. It’s difficult to say. It will be held against you. It’s too bold. It’s often quite pathetic. It’s amazing how, after everything, I love you still works.
I find satisfaction out of other people’s happiness.
These were the lovely bones that had grown around my absence: the connections - sometimes tenuous, sometimes made at great cost, but often magnificent - that happened after I was gone. And I began to see things in a way that let me hold the world without me in it. The events that my death wrought were merely the bones of a body that would become whole at some unpredictable time in the future. The price of what I came to see as this miraculous body had been my life.
In sunsets, in starlight, on bridges, on sidewalks. There’s beauty in driveways and overgrown lawns. There’s wonder on couches and magnificence on floors. There’s magic where you make it, and don’t be afraid to take it. Because there’s magic in the sky and on the ground and in the air that you breathe. You just need to open your eyes and open your mind and believe that it’s there.
