Each day the sun rises and sets at a different time and a different place on the horizon, but only slightly so, and if you pay very close attention you can hear the earth shuddering like a rickety old house as the peaks in the distance grow at a rate of two inches a decade and the lowlands where farmers toil subside with the falling water table.

It's so easy to forget how much I love so many of the people in my life. And whenever I am reminded of how much I'd give to do right by my loved ones, whenever I am recalled to love, the sheer magnitude of the emotion spins me around, leaves me gasping and staggering about. I start to feel that the things I have to live for are a thousandfold greater than I could ever need, deserve or comprehend. Maybe that's why most of the time love in its purer forms isn't something we keep in hand for every moment of every day--most of the time it follows us around as a pleasant afterthought, like old wallet photos in your pants pocket or purse, half-remembered smells from your childhood playground rediscovered in mundane and unexpected places, or a careless touch of sunshine on the nape of your neck when it's chilly and you're headed home.

It's strange how easy it is to forget what it means to love so many people in my life. Even as I write this now, the feeling subsides to something I could almost get my mind around. I'm not sure it's possible to cling to love in its purer forms, to hold it to us more permanently. If it is possible, I'm not sure it is necessarily wise. But in either case I will do my best to not forget so easily.