“Forgiveness is the final form of love.”
— Reinhold Niebuhr
He knew how the world worked. The girls would tip their heads when he entered the lecture hall. I was one of them. In whispers they would compliment him on his dark wavy hair and his designer clothing. He would pace in front of the podium, delivering his wisdom to our empty minds without a glance at his papers. He’d refer to the screen images, of ancient art behind velvet ropes or ironic architecture mutilated in an overgrown field. He called them the “idioms of our cultural psyche”.
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Copyright Digestible Ink 2014