10/11/10
This is my Step 9.
While I have put it into the form of a birthday present to you, actually giving it to you is Step 9’s restitution that I’m making to myself.
Restitution for what?
I have finally come to the inevitable conclusion that you meant far more to me than I did to you. Well, I guess it could be that I did mean something to you, but you didn’t know how to show it. It could be that I meant so much to you that you were paralyzed by your feelings. I don’t know. In any case, I can tell you that there wasn’t anything much worse than your silence – that awful, empty silence after you moved down to Spanish Fork, and it’s possible that you didn’t know how much I missed you, how much of an impact you and your words had on me, but you did, and they did, and I ached for you every day.
I have said before that there is beauty in everything, including tragedy, and that sorrow and joy are two sides of the same coin, and it’s true here, too. While nothing ever became of us, I at least get to count you among my great loves, for reasons all your own, and I get to validate that love by at last releasing you from my heart and, without regret or resentment, wish you the very best life. When the heart expands to the point that the love it feels supersedes its longing for companionship, then, love reaches a new level, and at that point it becomes an amazing feeling; it doesn‘t yearn. It doesn’t pine. It doesn’t possess. No, it strengthens. It gives courage. It breathes life into a desolate world. Pure love doesn‘t ask, require, demand, or even request. It simply is.
Incredible.
So, Happy Birthday, early or on time, depending on when you get this, and take with it my gratitude, as always. Do what you like with my writing; burn it, toss it aside, shred it, treasure it, it makes no difference; I will love you all the same.
And I will allow myself an indulgent grin whenever I look up at the stars. That’s the only thing I’m really sad about – that I didn’t get to stargaze next to you. But, I’m not entirely without: you’re in every constellation, every bashful smile, every guitar, every plane, every gentle “oh dear,” every first kiss, every phase of the moon.
I forgive you for not being able to love me back.
I forgive myself for wanting you to be.
Besides, you kept your promise. Though we never stepped foot into an airplane, you still sent me soaring. I had always wanted to know what it felt like to fly – and you told me once that I would love it.
You were right.
Incredible.
