Sometimes I watch the moon and think about all the people in the entire history of people who also looked up at that very same moon. And I think about how they all saw sunsets and sunrises put off by the very same sun I see, and that they enjoyed all those streaks of colors. That one moon and one sun unites the entire human race.

Grandpa stopped and looked at me. I paused, too, knowing this meant he had something important to say. His body was frail, but when he stood with his chin up like that, staring into my eyes, I had no choice but to respond with complete honesty. He could level me with that look. I was like a vulnerable child every time he did it.

Grandpa would go for strolls alone through the pastures where meadowlarks and grasshoppers flew like broken-winged birds, where rabbits constructed their havens, and where thick-coated coyotes and red-tailed foxes sniffed and searched them out.

So we went for a stroll in Alumni Park, a grassy lawn in front of Pepperdine that overlooks the coast. Deer trickle down from the hills and rocky bluffs to graze there. The coral trees rise like watchtowers over a pond where fresh water reeds grow, providing a small refuge for ducks and wild birds. At night, a full moon leaves a trail on the ocean’s black waters, and the constant coastal breeze disturbs the tree limbs, sending their leaves into a continuous stirring.

She shook her head, and we parted, kissing, as the first beams from the sun burst forth behind us. When I returned to my bedroom, the scent of her hair remained on my pillow. For the first time in my life, at the age of twenty-five, I was in love.

Eden hid her smile in my hand and leaned down and kissed me. I took her face in my hand, her velvety skin like energy against my fingertips. Her love for her family and for people who were hurting all collided with her stunning beauty and made her irresistible. I kissed her forehead, her cheek, her neck, and her chin. Our noses touched, and she drew a shaky breath. Her hair hung around my face, creating a veil that hid us from the world.

She was wrapped in my jacket, almost swallowed by it. You never realize how small a woman is until she wears your clothes.

Forgiving doesn’t mean forgetting. Forgiveness is you not letting your hate and anger rule your life. Because it will, whether you realize it or not. When you free the offender, you’re freeing yourself. Your forgiveness or lack of forgiveness has no effect on them. It’s your journey. It’s your struggle.

I’ve learned that when people are hurting, they need a comforter, not a commentator.

Yellow swallowtail butterflies, with their charcoal striped wings, were all over the wildflowers. The woodpeckers rattled away in the trees. Two weeks ago, those sounds were annoying to me, but now, it sounds more like a song. I stopped to ask myself what was wrong with me, for everything to be so awesome in the world, and then I remembered. So this is what being in love is like.