Love Is

An old man in a baggy wrinkled suit, hunched over his departed wife’s grave, in the rain and placing a single flower on her tombstone as he whispers, “I will always love you.”

It is an old woman sitting alone on a bench in the park on a warm summer evening watching the sun descend below the horizon as she reads a poem written 50 years ago for her by her departed husband. It makes her smile. “I will always love you,” she whispers.

Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies – Aristotle

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