The thing about grandmothers not being able to see very well, is that when they walk in on you crying your heart out, they can’t see the tears. They ask you questions that you answer while trying to find a tissue. And then they walk out again, like it never happened and you think, maybe I wasn’t really crying after all. Then you stop. And you weren’t. And maybe having your heart smashed into a million pieces only days before Christmas, never really happened after all. In fact, maybe you dreamed the whole thing into existence, just like you said here in your gushing ode to love.