This is what happened in love. One of you cried a lot and then both of you grew sarcastic.

All the way out I listen to the car AM radio, bad lyrics of trailer park love, gin and tonic love, strobe light love, lost and found love, lost and found and lost love, lost and lost and lost love—some people were having no luck at all. The DJ sounds quick and smooth and after-shaved, the rest of the world a mess by comparison.

It was like the classic scene in the movies where one lover is on the train and one is on the platform and the train starts to pull away, and the lover on the platform begins to trot along and then jog and then sprint and then gives up altogether as the train speeds irrevocably off. Except in this case I was all the parts: I was the lover on the platform, I was the lover on the train. And I was also the train.

This was my modest dream come true: unambitious flight. The kind that never even got high enough for a view.

I want to pretend there's such a thing as requited love. As the endurance of love.

You chose love like a belief, a faith, a place, a box for one's heart to knock against like a spook in the house.

If God Speaks Through Burning Bushes, Let's Burn Bush and Listen to What God Says.