I keep looking at people and wondering if I could love them. Could I love the curly-haired teenager in the bookstore, the man walking past the cafe window, the screaming child, the piebald lady with the shaking hands and breath like sour milk? What would it take to love them all? And really, what I am asking is: could all of these people love me? Isn’t that what we ask the world every time we open the great big door inside of us? How much love is out there and is there some for me?
I think if you find people to love, it doesn’t matter how much is out there for you.