“So you told her that you love her?” I asked the old man who sometimes seems like a young man.
“I did.”
“Did she say it back?”
“I thought she did. I heard her say it. But as the days that followed turned into weeks then months and then years, I realized that she hadn’t”
“What do you mean?”
“Kid, people only hear what they want to hear.
I wanted to hear those words from her. I had built her up to be the real-life manifestation of what I thought the person I was going to fall in love with, and spend the rest of my life with, looked like and felt like. Perhaps I was wrong.”
“Do you regret it?”
“Regret what?”
“Regret telling her that you loved her.”
“No. Not even the slightest. I was made to love her.”
“Really? Why not? She didn’t love you back.”
“That was her business. I knew what I felt, how I felt it. That was MY business, not hers. That being said, I think she did love me, but was too afraid to admit it. Love is scary my man. It’s literally like walking the edge of a precipice, toeing the line until that moment you jump, only a bungee keeping you from saying goodbye to life. There are loads and loads of people, many of them good and happy, who are afraid of the kind of love they truly deserve. It takes a lot to love, to wholly give yourself into it, to express it, to immerse yourself in it. As hard as it may be to give love, it’s even harder to receive it. Maybe she wasn’t ready to receive the kind of love that I was willing to give?”
“What will you do?”
“Maybe our lives together will be lived in the next life, this one just getting ourselves closer to it. I’ll keep trying till we get it right, till we are together. You see, I was made to love her. And she was made to love me. If not in this life, then the next.”
“So you’re giving up?”
“Not even the slightest. I’ve only just begun.”
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Secret of My SucCecil 