Funny, isn’t it? Every time I used to think of you, I would imagine someone a bit worn-down…a little helpless…someone scared, or in need…someone to rescue, I suppose. Ah, what a joy it was to see again the true you, undaunted and thriving! Reality turned out to be much more interesting than my vapid, self-serving dreams–though I shouldn’t have been surprised; I’d simply forgotten how vibrant you really were. Forgotten your magnetism and fire, forgotten your strength, forgotten the way you’d conquered the mountain we climbed together, insisting that the only help you needed was my company, in spite of the pain you’d been in–all this time, I realized, I’d only been remembering an idea of you, not a person–not something real•
Every happy moment came rushing back, then, undistorted by my past self’s sour grapes and inexperience, and I finally understood how effortless things had been. All you ever had to do to make me happy was share your own happiness–and it was so easy to make you happy! Returning your smiles, holding you, listening to you talk: all of it, easy as breathing. Far too easy, I’d thought, and even back then I knew it was stupid to want a “challenge” instead of you, knew I was being a fool, but the very last shortcoming I would have guessed was a lack of imagination. Even after you were brave enough to give me a second chance, literally spelling it out for me because you were too nervous to confess out loud, I still never suspected that it wasn’t pity I fought against when I gave you that final “no”•
All through the rest of my teenage years and well into my twenties, I didn’t realize how rare it was for love to be that easy–how rare you were. Rare and precious, shining like a jewel, small and fragile-seeming but tough as diamond. For all my ego, for all my intellect, for all that I was older than you in years, I’d been far more of a child–a child and a coward. Exaggerating my petty, harmless terrors; too scared to notice the ones pinning me down; unwilling to stick my neck out for you a single millimeter; excoriating myself for all the wrong faults. All the wrong mistakes•
Reliving any amount of our past joy was more than I should have hoped for (certainly more than I deserved, after the way I’d tossed you aside), but at least I made an effort this time. Fought for it, actually–fought harder than I’d ever fought for anything, fought even though I was afraid. Enough to earn a bit of your friendship, if not your affection. A tiny fraction of what I wanted, and over much too soon, but the few days you did grant me were still beautiful. Rare and precious and shining, like jewels•
“Let’s take a step back,” you once said, but I think what I really need to do is learn how to walk forward. Except…it’s so hard to take that first step, when the direction I most want to go is the one you’ve told me not to face: toward you. Standing where I am now, even the thought of leaving you behind for good–of forgetting my feelings the way you’d forgotten yours–is almost too painful to contemplate (…though now I’m embarrassed for calling it “pain” after you gave the same name to the trials you’ve withstood, trials far worse than this, trials I know I would not have lived through, let alone overcome). Still, I have the courage to at least look forward now, thanks to your example, and when I do I see a path–terrain even more difficult than I imagined, yet a relief, too: the answer to a riddle that’s frustrated me all my life, but now that I know where to look it’s breathtakingly clear; like reading a familiar poem and suddenly seeing, for the first time, a message that had been there all along–hidden in plain sight.
In Search of Secrets 