On the corner of President and Smith Streets in Brooklyn.
They walked behind me and I heard her sweet voice. “Do you like it Daddy?”
He was firm in his answer. Assured. “Very much.”
“But do you love it?” she probed.
There was a moment of silence before he spoke. “No. I don’t. The word love is reserved for very special things.”
“Like things you want to keep in a glass jar for always?”
I turned the corner and imagined what they looked like. Her little hand stretching up to reach his. Both of them holding on to something so perfect, so delicate, they must find another way to preserve it forever.