twenty three years ago today my family showered golden rice grains upon my parents, and from there they built their marriage brick by brick, a fortress of reluctant, but patient love. i know i wasn’t in love, but a smile has never pierced me like his. have my bones always been made of metal? when my parents built that tower, didn’t they think to show me how? now my hands are empty, and i’m grabbing at blades of grass to ground myself. couldn’t they have taught me how much it would ache, to see a flame in his eyes that i didn’t light? or is a love built from patience, a love held down with mortar, really love at all?