For real. And you can find a lot more In a Chapel Built of Trees here. All of it really. Not to mention some excerpt below.
"You put your hand back on the glass, and you started to hum—you do that, you know, when you’re inspired or anxious or when you don’t want silence when there should be words.
“What changed?” you said to me but didn’t turn around.
I didn’t answer you. I still couldn’t, I don’t think. Or, how about this: Time changed. We met, what, junior year of high school? We escaped our families, those parts of our lives we had wanted altered and improved upon—escaped into one another. So, these trails and these hikes, these explorations of wild areas, it all made sense, you know? We made a list, we both had a copy with cute notes and doodles in the margins, and we scratched off these state and national parks as we visited them, as we questioned their formations, studied their flora.
And, yes, we talked about children all through the rest of high school because all couples do that, right? And in college, sure, we kept it up because that was the future. It was something to look toward. Another thing to cross off our list. We had names picked out and everything. At your cousin’s wedding, after we graduated, right after you took that job and were on such a high—at the reception when you zany danced with your nieces and nephews—you hugged me after and told me you couldn’t wait to have our own someday. If I could pinpoint it, I guess, that was the first time, I really think, I felt something different. But you know what I did? I smiled and said, “Sure, of course. I love it. I love you.”