The Temple Called Love

"Your Grandfather was true to his word, and there was never another day passed that he didn't tell your Grandmother that he loved her, and needed her, more each day. And Grandmother would always tell him that she'd loved him for as long as she could remember, so there was no point in changing now.

They would smile, and kiss, and then they could go on with their day. And it was never just a habit for them. Each time they said it, they meant it."

"So," Sarah interjected, "They lived happily ever after."

"Yes, they did, Sarah, because they took the time to grow together. Until Grandmother passed in her sleep when she was seventy-five years old. By then Grandpa was almost eighty-years old, and when she passed, he refused to mourn — because he said he would be joining her soon. Less than two months later, he did go to be with her."

"And they're buried together in the cemetery, right?"

I nodded, with tears in my eyes, just like I always got when I told my parent's story.

"Can we go visit with them, Grandma?" Sarah asked.

I agreed, and together Sarah and I went out to the car, and spent an hour or so at the cemetery visiting with the two people who loved each other more than any others I've ever known.

Then for awhile we both sat on the bench above their graves as I told my Granddaughter more about my memories of them.

Especially how through the years they built and rebuilt stronger their Temple of Love.

Another story that strays from my 'normal' tales. I've had this concept of 'love' forming and evolving for quite some time, but it took me awhile to develop a story using it.

This story also differs from the prototypical 'romance' in two ways: most romances take place at the beginning of a relationship, and there is usually some seemingly insurmountable obstacles against the lovers actually being together. Clearly, those two conditions are not true in this story. Nevertheless, it remains a romance to me.

PostScriptor