I go running in autumn. Constantly moving, propelled. There are leaves falling all around me; I watch them fall. Leaves have no preference. I am running, I am not – still they fall. Sometimes I think of catching a leaf in flight. But truthfully, I run and wait for the perfect leaf that, falling, reaches the height of my chest as I run by – opening a hand, I grasp it. Sometimes I wonder what kind of person sees a leaf – mysterious, inexplicably identified as the one – falling out ahead and speeds up to catch it. Or, moves out into the road, adjusting the running pattern to match the leaf’s descent. Who does this? They seem to have more confidence, more intention.
When I catch that perfect leaf – the one that doesn’t break my stride or alter my path – I hold it for a second. And I toss it away from my body, and it falls on the street with the others. It has no preference. Independent from my actions, it will fall.
How do you think of love?
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