Photo Source: Unsplash Jesus, Hiking How do I explain how I love you? Like rain to a windshield, like the angry red tip of a match to the striker scraping myself raw, burning myself alive — No, I love you the way I myself wish to be loved. Softly, achingly, painfully. What could I have said? That I would have become a student of you, that I would have loved you like an orphan? I wring my hands in the kitchen like a mother awaiting a soldiered child: Please, come safely. And soon, please —...