Lust

It’s just that love, I think, is magic, and work. Madeleine L’Engle once wrote about the great gift of love, the great cosmic pairing of two, and she said this: “It’s a strange thing, how you can love somebody, how you can be all eaten up inside with needing them–and they simply don’t need you.

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Love

Well, really, love is little more than a man bringing a pillow out to his wife on the hammock. But of course that’s not true. It is a man knowing his wife, noticing that it’s sunny, that the toddler is down for her nap, that she can certainly be found reading, swaying just outside the

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