Every night she closes her eyes to listen and then print instructions from the all-in-ones; the channelers, healers, mystics and encouragers.

She places them in her heart wanting never to forget how indirect and unfocused love can appear to be even as it gathers unlikely resources to set aim directly at someone’s heart. She never wanted to forget how much effort had been put into studying her and loving her past the edges of their comfort zone by any means possible.

While she observes in wonder and conjures ways to reciprocate, her heart is at peace but it’s the kneelers she can’t get out of her mind each day.

The church kneelers.

She sometimes feels they’ve been kneeling on the ones in their hearts so long that when the wish is granted they won’t be able to stand. She’s felt that way for so long that she’s made peace in being grounded with him.

They’re always in an empty cathedral surrounded by forest, its corridors filled with a light scent of burning frankincense and its kneeling room decorated by sunlight streaming in through stained-glass windows of saints and angels.

It’s where they make love and awaken each morning, staring into each other’s eyes and the promises of heaven.

They love not to spite barbarians but to example the future promised, to beautifully “etch history into glass and stone”, that the saints and angels be seen through their stained-glass hearts.