vendredi, septembre 02, 2011
At the corner of "no" and "maybe"
You will never read this (unless I forget to delete it, of course).
It will be gone before I give you the key that unlocks this door.
And if we continue to get to know each other, you aren't going to show up here a lot.
I sense your openness.
Willingness to take the next step.
Interest in getting to know me better.
We have a lot in common -- more than in most such chance encounters.
Your intellect more formidable, perhaps, than mine -- always a humbling, but exciting, experience.
Your emotional intelligence.
A global perspective nurtured by travel and reading.
Lack of antipathy for a faith you do not share, but can find in analogy, in poetry, in metaphor.
So much to offer -- potentially.
And yet I am aware, as we crack the door open, what it is that, soon, I will say to you.
You need time. Space. Freedom. You need not, must not, even if the conditions are favorable, fall for me -- at least not now.
How strange, and how damnable, that I should once again find myself playing the worldly-wise, the detached, the rueful...I'm so good at rue.
Shall I watch? Shall I wait? Shall I open myself to the possibility that my heart shall, once again, be shredded?
Shall I trust that better conditions may produce a better outcome?
I don't know what occurs afterward, but I do know how the first act ends.
A woman sits across from a man somewhere...and sends him out to explore his new world, with her blessing. She walks out alone, at least for now.
The logical question after that is: will there be a second act?