“The world is made up of connections,” the shaman tells me. “Every person, every word, every idea has some kind of connection with you, inspires some sort of response from you. When someone says the word chair, I think of that chair,” he nods his head at the corner where an unstable red stool sits. “I made it myself and, well, I wouldn’t trust it to hold a feather, and yet…” he shrugs. “It’s my definition of a chair, my connection with it.” He pauses to offer me some more tea. I politely decline.

“Now, why don’t we try this-” he searches for the word. “Experiment, if you will. Tell me, what do you think of when I say inconvenience?”

“Sorry,” the word spills out automatically. His smile broadens but he doesn’t comment.

“How about box?”

“Surprise.”

“Open?”

“Closed.”

“Now think, why did you answer the way you did? Why do you say ‘sorry’ when you think of inconvenience? Maybe because whenever you inconvienience someone you feel the need to apologize. Why do you associate box with surprise? Maybe because gifts are commonly given in boxes, and by not knowing what is in the box it is a surprise.” He stops for a minute to let me absorb this.

“How about we try one a little harder?” He gets this gleam in his eye. “Love.”

Love?

“Now don’t think too hard,” he warns me. But I ignore him, letting myself sink into my mind. Think too hard? That’s a laugh. Because love… It’s such an easy question. Love? Love is her.

Her, the one whose smile is imprinted in my eyes, whose laugh is remembered in my ears. Her, whose touch is memorized by my skin, whose name is always on the tip of my tongue. Her, who is always on my mind, who I wish to be with every single day, who is…

I open my eyes and, smiling, I tell him her name.

“And before you bother to ask, I already know why I answered this way.” I sigh, staring down at my empty teacup. “It’s because I love her.”

Thank you for reading.

Comments appreciated.