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The curtain is a mix of gauzy ivory and old linen with its lines showing. Shadows from the windows frame loop over its surface like the graph of a heartbeat. They stir as the fan turns the air in unseen arcs around the room. Shadows wouldn’t show up unless they had a surface to fall on, right?

We cannot see love unless it falls on a surface and leaves its imprint of life. Perhaps it is when its song grows strongest, reaching its fullness, that the soul is called from this life to the next. Perhaps. I do not know. But I do know: The presence of love is the lifebreath in us. It echoes in our souls, leading us toward eternity. Let its strains lead us to the Master of the Song. In this life and the next, may He wrap us in His Presence.

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