Love, by its very nature, is unworldly, and it is for this reason rather than its rarity that it is not only apolitical but antipolitical, perhaps the most powerful of all antipolitical forces.
— Hannah Arendt
Did we not walk through the woods side by side, our hearts bursting with as much light as there was shining through the trees?
Did we not meet on an airplane, our ears popping, but speaking louder to each other in Spanish about literature and South American poetry?
Did you not put your arm around me for the first time while walking down Crosby Street?
Did we not kiss with the Empire State building watching us?
Did we not grow up together, under the same sky? Are we not growing old together now, walking the same earth?
Did we not run through the leaves together, marveling at the sound?
Did we not break bread together, bandages on fingers and coffee in hand?
Did I not think of you while watching the city skyline from a distance; the shadowy outlines of Manhattan coming to life in the morning after shedding itself from the mist and fog of the night?
Did you not surprise me with flowers one spring day?
Did you not disappoint me with your absence one summer night?
Did we not wake at the same time to hear the owl’s song?
Did you not send me a quiet message-in-a-bottle: “The opposite of faith is not doubt: It is certainty. That might be the opposite of love, as well.”
Did you not sit on the other side of the door while I was weeping, your voice reaching for mine?
Did you not sing to me as I fell asleep?
Did we not stand, a river apart, wondering how the other was sleeping?
Are we not countries apart now, thinking of the same thing?
Are we not all of different skin colors and religions and even political beliefs, yet marveling all the same at these little details of love?
Did any revolution not begin with hope? Did any winter not end with spring? Did any change not begin with doubt? Did any world not begin with love?