I know I hurt you every time I ask the impossible. I know that you would do it too. That is, if it weren’t... “the impossible.” But I cannot seem to tie back the words with knots or ropes or chains or weights heavy enough and strong enough to keep them from charging out and asking again.

It is hope.

It is foolishness.

It is blindness and I love it;

because seeing how far away you really are is not worth the weight that it brings. And so I love blindness. Because I can pretend that you are right here; and that when I ask you to come, you can.

It is selfishness too.

To hurt you so that I hurt less.
To shut my eyes and speak words that make you open yours that much wider.
To make you the one with the bad news and reality riding on your back for you to deliver...because I chose to forget. I am hoping for a day when we can both shirk responsibility and reality, cross the distance, and forget the gap was ever there. I keep hoping even though I know it to be the most selfish, foolish blindness.

But I love it.

Perhaps, forgive me, more than I love you.

Because, you see, I have to think that if I really loved you more than I loved the idea of you here, I would find a way to swallow those poison words instead of feeding them to you. But I do not. I am trying though, to learn.

And that has got to count for something, right? I mean, it is hard and unwieldy and I do not like it. I think that that is life though; and if the rumors are true, you and I, dear are alive and in this thing called life for awhile. If you could, be patient with me while I learn to love you more than my blindness.