Thursday, July 5, 2007

A Note

I do think about you, you know. I don't let on, but I care about you. Sometimes I wish I could take hold of you and hug you the way I held my boys. But we can't do that. I'd tell you I love you, but that would make things too awkward. Wouldn't it. It's okay. You don't have to love me.

I see you, and I think there is a profound dissatisfaction buried in your heart. I don't have any wisdom for you. Nothing that you don't already know. All I know is that the only satisfaction I have ever found was in being tender and patient and kind. The only thing that makes life bearable is the idea that somewhere there is love in it.

One of the times my boy from juvenile hall went back to jail, he decided he'd rather stay there than come home. I really don't recall the details, but those were the only options remaining to him. He wouldn't come out when I came for him, so I sent in a note with his lawyer. Don't give up. We can work this out. I love you. And the boy came out, and came home. He said, "Do you want to know why I changed my mind?" "Why?" "Your note. It was so simple, and so honest." Well, it was. "It's the only thing that could have worked."

There's always a cost in pain, with love. I've risked it before. Now, for all that I say I'm out of courage, I feel the emptiness of living this way. I don't know that about you. I don't think you're quite at that place. Yet. I could be wrong. You're not really one to talk a lot about your feelings. Well, neither am I. Talk, I mean. You wouldn't have a clue, except that I do write these little notes.

You have no cause to trust me. You don't know me. You've seen only what I've shown. You haven't seen me under stress, the way my boys did. If you have no real cause to trust, how could you love? For that matter, how could you be loved? I don't know you either. But understand, I haven't said I love you. I haven't said it. Yet. I have learned that trust and love are two different things. You see? I have loved what was untrustworthy. I have been trustworthy and unloved. I did already mention the cost of love, right? I will love, regardless.

Should I love you? The question is irrelevant. You need to be loved. If you have it, you don't need anything from me. If you don't need anything from me, I will be silent. But I just wanted to say it. I think about you, and I'd like to tell you that I love you. Because I do.


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