“I was worried”. She said. “Why were you worried little one?” I answered.

The craft is our imperfectly crafted moments that we stitch together every single day. At its core, the “together” is the only explainable word to describe the craft. 

When the stich happens to come loose, just even a little bit, we go insane. I remember when I took her to her exam and I sat outside. Surrounded by the amusement of trees, benches, the ocean, cigarettes— I felt it come loose, because she wasn’t around. She was a few hundred meters away, but—“away”.

We have slow mornings. We get coffee, we have serious conversations, we talk about past memories. As the day gradually goes by, we start to stitch. We stay.

During the days, I suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy. It is so relieving to not be hesitant to express that joy. I often express it with—“Hey! I love you, okay?”

She seeks me throughout the day, in turn, I seek her back. I watch her spring with beautiful ideas, and I watch her torture herself with dark thoughts. I will be her light. I will show her how to ascent. 

During the day, we love each other, we have coffee, she brings her ideas to fruition, sometimes I peel pomegranates for her, she becomes relief. We sit outside, we smoke cigarettes, the wind hits her face, I adore her beauty. 

One of the days, we dress up in kurtas and sit on a bench in a yellowish green park— while I read her beauty. Full circle. 

That’s how I know I’m in love. Even when it hurts, I want to stay. And for as long as I exist, she will be loved.

For as long as we exist, we’ll craft.