I believe this. When we meet those we fall in love with, there is an aspect of our spirit that is historian, a bit of a pedant who reminisces or remembers a meeting when the other has passed by innocently…but all parts of the body must be ready for the other, all atoms must jump in one direction for desire to occur.

It doubles your perception, to write from the point of view of someone you're not.

So we came to understand that small and important thing, that our lives could be large with interesting strangers who would pass us without any personal involvement.

Sometimes when she is able to spend the night with him they are wakened by the three minarets of the city beginning their prayers before dawn. He walks with her through the indigo markets that lie between South Cairo and her home. The beautiful songs of faith enter the air like arrows, one minaret answering another, as if passing on a rumor of the two of them as they walk through the cold morning air, the smell of charcoal and hemp already making the air profound. Sinners in a holy city.

He came to this country like a torch on fire and he swallowed air as he walked forward and he gave out light

From this point on, she whispered, we will either find or lose our souls.

all this Beethoven and rain