Heaven is my home, but until I get there, I think that God sends me little pieces of it, simple foretastes of what eternity will be like. I see it in simple orange and pink sunsets over empty Ann Arbor parking lots, from the half-obscured view of my window when the light sneaks through the blinds and warms my body as I lay in bed; I feel it in the embrace of the person I love most, whether we’re dancing in the kitchen or merely touching hands one last time before we part way
