The Nightingale

If love is a disease, I suppose I’m infected.”

She wanted to remember him for as long as forever was.

“If times were different, I’d make you chase me,”

Wounds heal. Love lasts.
We remain.

“We will remind each other, oui? On the dark days. We will be strong for each other.”

“It’s not forgetting we need, Vianne,” he said, leaning down to kiss her. “It’s remembering.”

Because of them, I know now what matters, and it is not what I have lost. It is my memories. Wounds heal. Love lasts.

We remain.

There will be pain in remembering, but there will be joy, too.

It is not biology that determines fatherhood. It is love.

I have spent a lifetime running from it, trying to forget, but now I see what a waste all that was.