Answerless
(Written 2006)
“Do you ever write about me?” she asked.
No, actually. I have not written in some time. I cannot recall what answer I gave her, but this is the real answer. I don’t know why I stopped writing. I don’t know why for several years I stopped playing and writing music. I just don’t know.
Maybe I had nothing to express at that time. Maybe the forms of expression I had were inadequate. Maybe I was tired.
I think about her, of course. I think about all of the people that mattered to me. Sometimes I think of the faces I have not seen in years and in my mind I reach out to them and long to share the wealth and breadth of my experiences since we have last spoke. I want to show them that I learned and loved and laughed. I want to thank them and apologize and embrace them all.
I want to tell them that I cared. I did not always express it, I did not always know it, but in the end, I did care, they did matter.
But back to the question. What would I write? What could I? I am certain of so little these days. Can I write more on what happens or happened between she and I over the years? What would it all come to?
Writing about her, or another, for that matter, is like examining a leaf on a tree. Each leaf on the tree is different, like a snowflake, individual. However, examining each leaf tells a story, a story of the whole, of the tree. Some of the leaves may be bright and full of life, some small and insignificant. Some are scarred, some are beautiful in their subtle details. Some of the leaves are new and budding, some are strong and have held their place on the limb for a long time. Some have fallen to the ground around the tree, as testimony of what once was. Some lie under the blanket of the freshly fallen, some are hidden leaves. Each tells us something, some small fragment, of the whole.
Any analysis now, of her, of anyone else, will tell you of the whole. However, the whole story simply is not one worth hearing.
I remember a time when I believed with all my heart in love, in passion, in life. I preached a philosophy that the magic that occurs between two people, that spark, was the real face of God; that relationships were truly sacred and things to be revered, treasured and adored. I found over the years, that not only were my ideas not mainstream, I found that I was the only one who believed them at all. I found that everyone else I met trampled and stomped on their relationships. They treated them like some ragged doormat, worth no consideration and no effort. I found that people have no genuine interest in each other except for what they get out of them.
Rather than converting anyone to my philosophy of love, they have instead converted me to their philosophy of reality. The reality is that no one enjoys the love they give, they only enjoy the love they feel. The do not feel the responsibility that accompanies love. They make love a lesser thing with their unworthy hands.
God has given us a gift for which we have proven unworthy.
Why have I not written about her? It is not because of her. It is because if I did, I could not bear to read the words myself.
