from Anna Karenina, which I am buried in, inextricably…
“Through love she knew all his soul, and in his soul she saw what she wanted, and that such a state of soul should be called unbelieving was to her a matter of no account.”
I can’t yet put my finger on exactly why, but these words brought comfort to a space in my heart I didn’t know needed it.
Can I see beyond what someone is now, to what he can, and perhaps shall be?