Absolutely.

There was a morning, a few days ago (right before my 'moon cycle' if you must know) that I couldn't help but cry at everything.

Everything. 

Petting Kat Moss, I teared up, thinking about one day, her not being with me. 

I got choked up after finding some facebook fanpage about a woman, in Texas, whom I don't know, who was in a coma. It was a rough day.

And then I stumbled upon this article, by Tom Junod, on the passing of George Jones (whose music I don't even know) and the relationship between his music, the essayist, and the essayist's mother. 

The essay ends with, 

A few years ago, when both my mother and father were still alive, I was driving my mother around Atlanta, with the country music station on the radio. She didn’t have to hide her love her love for country music anymore, and I no longer hated it, and when “He Stopped Loving Her Today” came on, I was eager to tell her that she had been right about it, all along. I never got the chance. When George Jones began to sing, she turned away, and said, “Imagine—being loved like that.” She was in her late eighties, but when I saw her face again, she was misty-eyed, and she looked only about as old as her dreams. My heart broke; it broke for her broken heart, for I knew what she knew, that her life would end without her ever being loved as she should have been, the way George Jones would have.

Later in the day, I was retelling the story to Jim in the car, probably choking up while doing so, and afterwards, afterwards there was a pause.

And, without taking his eyes off the road, he said quietly,

'You know I do. Love you like that.' 

 I absolutely do, too.