“You love me.” “Yes, yes I do.” “Why?” “Why should I not?” “It’s not beautiful, loving me.” “That’s okay, I still love you.” “But why?” “You make me feel alive again, your perfections and imperfections, they are beautiful.” “Even my imperfections?” “Yes, even your imperfections.” “But how can my imperfections be beautiful, when all I see is the aftermath of a hurricane?” “I don’t know, they just are.”