One night when Flora and I were laying in bed, she caressed my back in a way that told me that all my childhood fears were liars, that everything in the world would be okay as long as I believed in us. I felt every morsel of my body melting. She then said something that has never left me.
"Do you feel that you love me?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
"Do you feel that I love you?"
And she wasn't using the word "feel" to describe the way we felt for one another. She was referring to a "feeling", as in another presence in the room.
"I feel that you love me too. I also feel that I love you. I think this is important."
She then took a pause to recollect the moment and said with a stern adaptation:
"This is very important."
I agree. It was important.
It is important.