Do I believe in love?
Did he truly ask me that? What kind of question is that?!

“Of course I believe in love! Who doesn’t believe in love?” How absurd.

He looked at me like I were some ingenue, and he was the wisest man on earth. Wise, but so very frightened. If being ingenuous meant feeling certain, that was fine with me. “You believe in love.” I told him. He had no say in the matter.

That amused him. I’d expected anger, but I got amusement. He was still regarding me like a little girl. “How could you know that?”

“Because, you’re a writer. You create things all the time. You can’t be believable unless you believe what you’re writing to be true, at least on some level. You write about magic. Love is magic.
“How can you live where there is love all around you, people who care for you, the Earth who provides for you, and be oblivious to the fact that you are loved? What do you think it is that drives everything in this world? I love you, you know that?”

“Ok! I believe in love!”