In Love

 

     "Why is he carrying her?"

    A child's question. An obvious question from a perennially persistent child.

    "Is she hurt?"

    How to answer? "No, she is the opposite of hurt. She's in love. He's in love."

    "In love? How can you be in love? Like in a bag? Or in a box or . . . ?"

    "Hmmm. No, not exactly like in a bag. But love can surround you, hold you tightly like a bag, protect you like a box."

    "How? I don't see anything like a box there!"

    "Well, no. It's more a feeling."

    "Like when you like something?

    Yes, when you like something . . . a lot." 

    He laughs. "I like ice cream.  I really love ice cream. Chocolate ice cream." More laughter. "That kind of feeling, the kind you can't see, but you really, really feel inside you?"

    "Yes, exactly. You can't see love the way you can see an ice cream cone . . . "

    "Until it's inside of you, then you can just feel it!" Laughter.

    "Yes, like that. It's still real. It exists, but you can't see it directly because it's inside you."

    "And it makes you feel good, makes you happy like eating ice cream."

    "Yes." She smiles, takes his hand. "Love makes you happy even more than eating an ice cream cone"

    "More than even a chocolate ice cream cone."

    "Yes."

    "Hmmm. So, that's why he's carrying her, to keep her forever."

    "Exactly, to keep her forever."

    "And forever and forever and forever and forever and forever and . . ."

    "Yes."

    "So, can I have some ice cream?"

    "Of, course," she says, and now they are both happy.