When I think of Japan I think of my friend, Nae. Not because she has any shred of Japanese blood in her or anything. She's as blond-haired-blue-eyed as they come. But there is someone in her life who is half Japanese, currently serving there for two years.
The day the earthquake hit, she thought for maybe three hours she had lost him forever.
She writes him every week. She waits. Sometimes patiently, and sometimes not patiently but oh, she waits. She's learned Japanese. She's going to Japan. She knows how to cook delicious Japanese magic in the form of food [the names of which are too beautiful for me to remember and slaughter here].
We were in the car, stopped at a red light with the now-summery air blowing through the sunroof when he decided: that is love.
[i loved the less-than-three once
i realized the cleverness behind it.
and what it represented.