What if I told you that you made me the happiest person in the world?
I mean… of course, I’ve never met the happiest person in the world– and how would I be able to tell for certain how happy they really are?
So let’s just say that you make me feel really good.
Being with you makes me want to hug God. Anything feels possible with you.
At the same time though, being with you terrifies me. To have something so precious means that I have so much more to lose. The more I allow you to gradually carve your way into my heart, to imprint the irresistible memories of you in my mind and in my soul, the more I realize that if you were to one day decide to abandon your safely guarded resting spot in my heart- the enclave of you within me that you have unintentionally formed- I would have a gaping hole right through the middle of me.
These were the words that circulated through the young man’s mind. These were the words that he longed to tell her, but the risk of telling her what was honest and true posed a threat far too formidable to his heart.
Was this the feeling? He constantly wondered– was this what others have talked so much about?
Often, he didn’t really like this feeling.
I accept everything about you, and I don’t really even want to accept that much. I love the way you stare off into the distance when you think I am not looking, and the way that your voice gets softer when you are sleepy and laying beside me, your body gradually becoming more limp in my arms as you drift off into a world in which I cannot reach.
Your hands fit perfectly in mine and I love all of the things about you that you wish you could change.
Is this the kind of feeling that is sustainable? He wanted to know.
Does she feel the same way?
Is it always the case that one person’s love is stronger than the other’s?
He wanted to throw out all of the stories and the opinions and the warnings others have dumped upon him– the dangers of love and how to avoid them was a mental handbook full of guidelines of which he had amassed throughout his lifetime. He didn’t want to believe that life would allow something so innocently exquisite- so beautiful, to be met by pain and regret.
He wanted to swim in these feelings, to allow himself to be consumed by the dizzy, indulgent fever of it all.
Yet he could not– we usually cannot.
We limit ourselves to a life of security and safety, always avoiding the passions that make life shake and dance and drip with ecstatic color.
So when he felt his phone vibrate in his left jean pocket he looked at the screen and saw her name.
He threw the cell phone across the room.
He thought about her smile one last time, until he drifted off into a world in which she could never reach.