One Cold November Rain


“My love for you has no beginning, no end. It is infinite, just like time.” 

Leather-bound journals embody my life, our story, and I’m eternally grateful I began them so long ago. A grief-stricken tear breaches my eye, and I swipe it away with an unsteady hand. 

“Infinity,” he said only a few hours earlier. 

Without question or hesitation, I pick up the journal on the nightstand, knowing he’s ready for me to read more. The tattered edges and faded words reflect the years on the pages in between. Its woven words thread the details that comprise the journey he hears as I recount each strand. It’s become like our quilt, sewn with the very fabric of our shared existence. Like a cobblestone path is cemented by dust, pebbles, and stones, ours is glued by the days, months, and years. In whole, one path has joined one soul with two hearts. 

This is our love story, started when we first met in 1926 as orphans on the Orphan Train during… One Cold November Rain.