In moments like these Jordan never tells me things will be better. He never says everything will be alright. He is too honest to comfort me with cliched phrases, and beautiful ideas. Instead he started making dinner. Not the half-frozen chicken in the kitchen sink, but bacon and eggs, his specialty. Somehow the smell of bacon has become the equivalent of love for me; a symbol of true understanding and service. It is a dangerous connection, I know.
His simple dinner gradually lured me from the comfort of our bed, to the kitchen table. Once full of saturated fats, he convinced me to go for a bike ride in search of a wild cherry tree. We found one, laden with bright red, glossy cherries, and we puckered at the shockingly sour fruit. Then we coasted down the canyon toward the setting sun. I felt myself being drawn back to life again and away from the solitary sorrow of my room, by the smell of bacon, and the taste of sour cherries, and by simple acts of love.
One does not fall in or out of love. One grows in love.
One of the videos from my phone. I love the joy of this video.