““Lovers are the best and worst kind of thieves, you know. That’s the trick of love, you see. An entirely new invention, every time. Rare and singular. Without prior context. Fools us into imagining we are the only ones in the history of every last forever to have ever known such a staggering sort of homecoming. The first to have tasted this opened-handed hope, to have surrendered that hope into such serendipitous grace. Love has us believing our own fairytales of never before and never again and now and now and only this right now. That in the entirety of this wide-open world nobody else has or will experience exactly this. Not quite like us. And we are, of course, entirely right and also wholly incorrect, all at once. Language becomes inadequate here, and thus love makes plagiarists of us all—we plunder the cosmos to pirate words and music, and images that come anywhere close to capturing the complexity of this ordinary/extraordinary reality.””
