We feel something. We are caught in the moment, and we cannot conceive that we would feel any other way about it, this tremendous thing. When we are young, we believe that each love, as it happens, will last forever. And when it is over, we think we will never love again, that the heartbreak is the world coming to its pitiful end. We learn however, it is not so, that these things we experience — we learn otherwise about these things that seem to mean so much. One might be tempted, as these things rise and fall, to believe the opposite. That there is nothing that lasts, and there is nothing that matters (much). Yet perhaps there are things in the world that though we let go of them, they do not let go of us, elements of the eternal that infiltrate our finity — and we become part of something so much larger than we can conceive. It is up to us each to wonder what these might be, but perhaps you know of what I speak: the things we imagine that on our dying day, lying with our energies expiring: the things, then, that we do not regret.