❝
He loved her in a
subtle kind of way. It wasn’t the kind of love
you see in movies, with swelling music and
giant gestures and
running through the streets to catch a departing train. It
wasn’t the kind of love that Byron or
Shakespeare wrote about, with f l o w
e r y language and hyperbole and iambic
pentameter. It was still and deep, like water that you might
mistake for shallow if you just watched the surface. It was
entirely his, not dependent on her own feelings for
him, and it would still be there whether she, or him, or
everyone else on the
world
disappeared.
It was a subtle kind of love, but it was true.
