During my travels, one rainy day I had a pleasant lunch after shopping for antiques. Upon paying the bill, the waitress brought a little postcard with a poem written in English. As I looked down I thought how incredible to receive this while sitting in a little restaurant half way across the world in the Middle East. It was a magical little moment telling me all was well and to expect good things. This is the true measure of love,
when we believe that we alone can love,
that no one would ever have loved before us,
and that no one
will ever love in the same way after us.
Goethe
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