Tiny love story: ‘Stimulated by the movie about her effort’

My husband and I are both teachers. On our 10th anniversary, I ask that we review our vows and give a score on how well we have delivered on our commitments. Line by line, we ranked vows like “I promise to share life’s joys and comfort you in its sorrows,” and “I promise to listen to you when I don’t understand.” ; and to trust you when I have doubts. ” David went on to give Ass and A+s. “Well,” I said, “do you really think I’ve appreciated that?” David replied, “I think I’m grading myself!” – Camille Napier Bernstein

A three-year relationship. Hot flashes, dizziness, pain. Sunrise running, hiking by the sea, “I love you” is exchanged in secret. Fourth year: After a night of dancing and drinking, he sees his husband kissing me from another room. Speaking up, asking for an explanation, her husband revealed a truth: “I also have feelings for him”. An unexpected group formed. We made love, made plans, played basketball, they organized dinners for my friends. Was happy. Soon, the neighbors were windy, rumors were swirling, and longtime friendships were strained. Insidious jealousy, lots of arguments. I ended five years of suffering with a text message: “You’re right, this isn’t going to work out.” – Corey Gerard Lambert

I traveled from New York to Leiden to visit my mother, who was ailing with severe lung disease. On the first morning, staggered by the jet, I found her by my bed, my favorite cookie in hand. “How did you get here?” I asked, knowing she couldn’t easily climb the stairs to the second floor anymore. Smiling, a little embarrassed, she replied, “Very slowly, step by step.” I then recounted this interaction to my therapist, who was a bit resentful of her efforts. “It’s a bit over the top,” I said. “No, it’s love,” he replied. – Daniella van Gennep

My mom and I don’t normally text. But on the day I found out that Google Translate added Tigrinya, speaking in the Eritrean language where I was born, I sent her a few simple translated messages – starting with “I love you”. Her reply, in Tigrinya, expressed overjoyed: “I love you so much too!!!” My mother misinterpreted my writing, believing that I was relearning a language I could once speak easily. Her misconceptions and imperfect, cumbersome translations fueled a familiar sense of loss – a longing to restore my identity, to speak to my mother in her mother tongue. . – Bethel Habte

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