One can give nothing whatever without giving oneself--that is to say, risking oneself. If one cannot risk oneself, then one is simply incapable of giving.
-- James Baldwin (1924-1987), Writer
I know she doesn't love him. I know she doesn't love his guts.
My brother calls me to ask questions about her. He wants me to interpret her missing-in-action behavior. I say she doesn't risk anything. She always says she's busy, that she lost her cell phone and that she didn't have e-mail connection. She's become quite skilled at describing her hasty days.
She'll tend to the audits but not to his soul.
I would've bought a phone card and gone to a pay phone. I would've gone to an Internet cafe. I would've lost sleep. I would've done these things instead of leaving him in question. She always leaves him wondering.
When there is doubt over one's love for you, your guts turn. Your guts mourn loudly. The heaviness cannot leave your eyes.
She doesn't love him. She doesn't love his guts.
Posted by ruth at March 28, 2003 04:38 PM