I’ve always had an affinity for love stories, ones that pull you in, light you up, and leave you different after. I’ve lived a few, some with intent, others entirely by chance. For me, the latter always seem to be the ones that hold true. When a love story is sought—to find what you are looking for—you shape it to an expected image. You mold what is not made and it takes the form to which your mind is fixed. Maybe that is as it was meant, but sometimes—when you force too hard—you make it wrong.
With the latter, it just happens. You see and feel it as it is, not as you had planned. You experience the moment, thinking neither of before nor after, grateful simply to be present, living in the company—or thought—of another. Maybe a moment becomes forever. Maybe a moment is all it is, but there is a magic in the experience, and it remains so in memory forever after.