Love

The title of my book indicates that I am a Clinical Social Worker, or a psychiatric social worker... a mental health professional, and a psychotherapist. So far, this might seem like a love story. It is. However, this story, everything I have written about so far and will describe later is related.

Being able to meet Lynn took a tremendous amount of effort and in a way, this was a story of success. Remember, when I was learning to overcome shyness, back in college (undergraduate college) I was interested in dating, finding a girlfriend, and ultimately having a family?

Self-actualization for me was found in the relationship I had with Lynn.

The same effort to overcome shyness would be crucial in my career including, but not limited to, my choice of career. 

So, we got engaged to be married and our relationship grew.

We had in mind a life together forever as husband and wife. To live happily ever after. This story is a bit complicated though. Let me explain.

Like everyone else, we wanted a "normal life."

The problem was that Lynn was born with a chronic illness called Cystic Fibrosis (CF). This is an illness or disease that may not be known and understood by everyone reading this. It might be hard to understand the impact of CF on our love story.

Cystic Fibrosis affects about 30,000 people in the US, so it's a rare disease. It causes excess mucus to build up in the lungs and digestive tract.

Because of the impact of CF on the digestive tract, Lynn had to take a bunch of pills with every meal and had to use inhalers and other medications to maintain her health. She also needed various medical equipment for health maintenance.

Cystic Fibrosis affects a person's breathing. This includes, but is not limited to, decreased oxygen saturation in the blood and scarring of the lungs. This scarring comes from infections. Because CF causes excess mucus to accumulate in the lungs, this creates a breeding ground for bacteria, and the bacteria cause infections.

Over time, the scarring due to infections grows. This scarring is permanent. Decreased lung capacity then makes it hard to breathe. Lynn had some equipment to clear out the mucus that was accumulating in her lungs. I also learned the tapping exercises to loosen the mucus.

They taught me this at the clinic where we went for Lynn's medical checkups and treatments. I would cup my hands a certain way and tap her back, the side of her chest area, and the front of her chest. Sometimes she would or could do this on the front of her body, in her chest area. However, that can be tiring and so I needed to learn to do this right.

Lynn provided feedback on where I needed to do the tapping. She could tell where the mucus was in her lungs and where it needed to be loosened and cleared out.

She had a persistent and distinctive cough, also, as a result of this buildup of mucus.

Again, this mucus was a breeding ground for bacteria, as I said. So, we had to clear the mucus out.

As it is a genetic illness and she was born with it, it is a pre-existing condition. Maybe if I was able to get a job with a large company there might have been a way to get insurance coverage but even then, that's not guaranteed, and what if I changed jobs?

People might wrongly think that I am talking about the financial burdens of Lynn's medical care. I am not in any way speaking of the potential financial burden of her medical care and how insurance might help with those expenses. Even a so-called good insurance plan is NOT the solution. 

Insurance is all about protection against things that might go wrong and the financial burden that one incurs when this happens.  Take property insurance as an example. You purchase this in case your home is robbed or damaged. You can't buy insurance after your house is robbed and hope the insurance agency will pay to replace the property that gets stolen or damaged. You need to have insurance before your property is stolen. 

I had that happen where I had property insurance and something was stolen. We estimated the cost and value of the stolen item and I was given a check or payment that was based on the current price of similar items. 

So, this was about access to medical care that was crucial for Lynn's survival. I'm not complaining about how expensive this treatment might be. I am talking about the need to guarantee that she had access to medical care necessary for her continued living.

We discussed with the staff social worker(s) at the clinic when she went for treatment or for a checkup. We discussed the state health care plan that covers people with Cystic Fibrosis.

This seemed to be the only option. However, to qualify for this health care plan, her income had to be kept below a certain level. She had to live in poverty.

In addition, as husband and wife, if our combined income exceeded a certain threshold for a married couple, she might be dropped from the health care coverage that paid for her medical care.

CF is fatal, also. It used to take people's lives before they reached 18. However, people are living into their 40s and 50s, and beyond their 50s, now. Obviously, this is not enough! I would likely live so much longer than that. At the time, I told myself that they would cure CF soon.

This is the tragic aspect of Cystic Fibrosis - the shortened lifespan. It's hard for the person with the disease but it's also very hard for a spouse. I mean Lynn was my source of happiness. I was totally in love with her. I could not imagine a life without her.

We had to cherish each moment and live our lives in each and every moment. Dwelling on the reality of her shortened lifespan would deprive us of the experience of a normal life - normal in the sense of falling in love, getting engaged, and living together forever as husband and wife.

Our forever would have to exist in each moment we had.

Now, consider the cost of treatment. It is estimated to be over $6000 per year and could cost tens of thousands of dollars. We are talking about something more serious than our financial woes -  we had to know that she could get the treatment she required - it was a matter of life and death, literally. Even with her mother being married to Bob, which meant that they had a substantial income, they never took a chance on her losing access to the insurance plan. They didn't say "Bob works for a big airline with great insurance so Lynn is safely protected."

Taking a chance on not having access to medical care was not an option. It would be morally and ethically irresponsible.

Lynn was relatively healthy for a long time when we were in our 20s and 30s. Occasionally, she had problems though. She might have to go into the hospital for IV antibiotics. That would bring the costs into the tens of thousands of dollars but I'm getting ahead of the story.

As you can see, this creates a problem in terms of taking our relationship to the next level and getting married.

What does a couple like us do? Just because a woman has Cystic Fibrosis doesn't mean that she doesn't have the same desires, hopes, and dreams as any woman or any girl. People with CF fall in love like everyone else.

I bet, dear reader, that you haven't put that much thought into a scenario like this. Unless you are living with this as a couple, you cannot know what it is like. I mean we wanted to take our relationship to the next symbolic level - to get married. This desire should come as no surprise.

Lynn had to deal with both of these issues - having a serious and potentially fatal chronic illness AND also being denied the option of a normal life where a woman gets married and has a wedding.

It was so painful and infuriating!

How dare we be denied the right to marry just like everyone else!

Occasionally, I would feel guilty back then about having sex without having had a wedding. I didn't like the fact that she called me her fiancé and that I was calling her my fiancée and yet we were having sex. I really hate talking about those moments. I didn't like how it made Lynn feel.

I don't remember what I would say but it would lead to Lynn asking, "do you regret what we do?"

I would always respond, "no, of course not." And I would feel such shame for making her feel like I regretted making love – expressing our love through sexual intimacy.

My sister worked for an insurance company and she may not have supported universal health care. Years later it would make me want to spit in the face of both of them for what I once heard that sounded like an expression of moral and emotional indifference when Mom said "the world's a dangerous place." It was offensive and disgusting.

I wanted Carrie to speak up and say that she had not considered a scenario like the one Lynn and I faced. I may have just misread what I was hearing by what Mom and what Carrie didn't say. At the moment I heard that it was disgusting, though.

I hope to share this book with Carrie and hope she will understand my momentary sense of outrage. I don't hold a grudge about this but it did hurt me.

Also, as I was Christian, I had been brainwashed with ideas about how you are supposed to act sexually. The teaching was that sex should occur only when two people are married. This would be problematic in our situation, obviously.

I had decided I was going to live as Lynn's husband even if we didn't officially get married. Our sacred union would not be denied based on the impossible position that the state put us in. I would say that in the eyes of God we were two that became one as it has always been... one body, one soul... one being. In the eyes of God, we were married.

It's amazing how much this silhouette in the photo above looks just like Lynn.

Before I continue with the story about how we got engaged, I want to share another story.

I wrote love poems. I said I was a poet. Is this a surprise that I was inspired to write love poems?

There was one time when I had written a love poem inspired by my love for Lynn. I decided to share it at the poetry reading. It would be a surprise for Lynn. We went to the Coastline Convention Center together like we almost always did.

It was a Sunday in late May of 1994, nearly two years after we started seeing each other. The sun was sinking low, and the room was getting slightly dark. Dusty had turned on a slightly dim light up front near the podium. The poem was inspired by a story from the old testament and a song by the Electric Prunes called "I Had Too Much To Dream (Last Night)."

I was still a Christian back then. I am an atheist now. Lynn had a belief in supernatural things, but she was not Christian. I laughingly say that I "want to believe" but I am not now an agnostic. I am now an atheist but that was not the case when these events were unfolding.  This might be hard to understand for some people – someone who dreams like me only believing in objective things that I know from science and objective reality provided by my five senses.

Anyway, I thought the title was somewhat unoriginal. "Dream-like Visions from the Song of Songs." "The Song of Songs" is called "The Song of Solomon" by Protestants. I heard the song "I Had Too Much To Dream" when I was watching a movie called "The Believers." Let me share a YouTube link to the song and then I will share the lyrics below.

The lyrics go like this:

Last night your shadow fell upon my lonely room
I touched your golden hair and tasted your perfume
Your eyes were filled with love the way they used to be
Your gentle hand reached out to comfort me
Then came the dawn
And you were gone
You were gone, gone, gone

I had too much to dream last night
Too much to dream
I'm not ready to face the light
I had too much to dream
Last night
Last night

The room was empty as I staggered from my bed
I could not bear the image racing through my head
You were so real that I could feel your eagerness
And when you raised your lips for me to kiss
Came the dawn
And you were gone
You were gone, gone, gone

I had too much to dream last night
Too much to dream
I'm not ready to face the light
I had too much to dream
Last night
Last night

I had too much to dream last night
Too much to dream
I'm not ready to face the light
I had too much to dream
Last night
Last night

Oh, too much to dream
Oh, too much to dream
Too much to dream last night
Oh, too much to dream
Oh, too much to dream
Oh, too much to dream

Dear reader, I apologize that I don't have the original version of the poem that I read back then. I will offer you a more recent modified version of that poem. While it was used in a horror movie, I like the magical dream-like quality of the song.

You might notice the words "but you were gone, gone, gone." This implies grief and loss. At the time when these events were unfolding, I was blissfully unaware of what would happen years later.

There is little that is more magical than being able to get up in front of a room of people and declare your undying love for another person. I could feel the driving power of the song...

I loved the applause. It was so obvious what this was about! People were stopping me as I walked away from the podium.

I then sat next to Lynn at the table as someone else was about to start reading. I noticed Lynn was doodling. One of our mutual friends said how much he liked the poem. I turned to Lynn and said, "well, what are your thoughts?"

"What?" she said in the form of a question. "I'm sorry I wasn't listening."

I just shook my head and smiled. She added, "I thought you were only reading poems I already heard." I could tell she was embarrassed. Her face was blushing. She added, "Oh, I'm so sorry sweetie. Let me read it."

I handed it to her and turned to face her, moving closer, my arms rested on her chair and I leaned in, tilting my head, and slowly brought my lips to hers... she was too embarrassed to be the one to part lips, I felt aroused as she held my lips there, with her hands on both sides of my face. Just for a moment – there were others.

"It's okay," I said. And with a smile, I added "you know I really love you."

"I love you too, honey."

She then looked down and read the poem.

This would become an inside joke for us. I would kid her about this in different ways... maybe something like "If I share a poem about our love I hope Lynn is listening?"

Her way of making up for this in the future was to read my poem on various occasions when she didn't have anything else to read. She would ask if I had the poem and then share it with the group. I can't count the number of times that happened. It demonstrated her appreciation and recognition of the value of our love.

Here's a recent version of the poem.

In this dreamlike vision
I lay in her lap,
while her hair flows in the gentle wind,
On the beach.

Is this real?
I reach up to touch her
but she is gone... gone... gone
and I am laying on the sand.

Looking skyward I see her
in a vision.
She searches for me,
calling my name, saying,
"I am his and he is mine."

I try to get back
to find her
and that infinite beach
where we would walk hand-in-hand
or lay on the sand
holding each other
together
forever.

The vision -
the dream -
(incomplete)
the love
never ends...

Getting Engaged!

I said, "I also need to get you a ring ..." pausing to let her register it. The next memory I have is of us in a jewelry store.

We didn't plan a marriage at the same time when we were planning to get engaged, though this was definitely implied. Those details could be worked out later and they were complicated by factors outside our control.

We were discussing the meaning of this step for both of us. It was a lifetime commitment to live as husband and wife. It felt natural, right, and appropriate while simultaneously being amazing and wonderful.

Words like "wonderful" and "amazing" are so overused that the full impact of these words needs some elaboration. Let me tell you what happened.

We were in love. Getting engaged to be married is the natural expression of that commitment that was intended to last forever.

I remember we were at a jewelry store at the mall. We explained that we weren't rich when an employee approached. A big diamond ring wasn't a necessity. Again, Lynn was the practical one. About two hundred dollars was what we would spend.

I wasn't much into jewelry but Lynn was and she even made jewelry in her pottery class/hobby.

I had butterflies in my stomach and my heart was racing. I was thinking to myself "this is real. I'm not dreaming. This is real." It was an almost ticklish feeling.

They measured Lynn's finger. I said, "are you sure?"

"Yes, let's get this one," she said looking at the lady.

"Your fiancé can come to pick it up next Monday," the lady said looking at Lynn.

I came to see her on that Monday and by then it felt like a routine day. We were alone at her place on Wrightsville Beach. I had not noticed if Lynn was aware that I had the ring that day.

I laid the bag on her bed and turned as she entered the room.

"I want to marry you ..." I began as I started opening the box. Then I noticed that she had tears of joy in her eyes. It took me a moment to take this in. My first thought was, "you knew I was bringing this" so I was surprised by her reaction.

She placed the ring on her finger, tears running down her face. Then she brought her arms around my neck and brought her lips to mine. My legs started to get weak. I raised her up by her waist a bit and laid back onto her bed bringing her with me, on top of me. My left arm then went around her shoulders. Her right arm dropped down by my lower back. She squeezed herself tightly around my back.

I felt her breasts pressed against my racing heart. Her heart was getting louder as she pressed her lips harder. I could feel her legs on my legs. I could feel the teardrops on my face.

I paused and said, "I am in love."

She answered, "I love you so much."

It was the most amazing thing I had ever experienced. Making Lynn this happy was a memory more intense than anything since. I have never been happier.

She was crying tears of joy and this was bliss! Serene. Then our lips met again, and she moved like she was ferociously hungry... like a wolf might devour a meal.

I remember sitting on her porch upstairs – it was half a flight upstairs to get to where the kitchen met the back porch. She was on the phone with her mother.

There's so much that I left out of this story.

The next phase of our relationship was moving into a home that Lynn's mother, Diane, bought in Wilmington.

I haven't even talked about the career that I was starting. Again, my choice of career was very significant for both of us. I was going into social work and the values that are reflected in that career choice were definitely something that was attractive to Lynn.

I actually had a very busy life during this time period but you wouldn't know that from what I wrote so far... You might think that we were just dreamers in love. But as I noted, Lynn was very practical and that was what attracted me to her. I'll continue to demonstrate this throughout the book.

I've focused on the relationship we had found together - Lynn and I. That connection is so crucial to the overall theme of this book. Relationships matter!

My career journey was taking off as well.

It is undeniable that the joy I brought Lynn was the happiest feeling I have ever known. I say this despite the fact that I feel very passionate about the career I have chosen. I very much like helping others and knowing that I can help another person find healing from emotional or psychological pain or negative experiences.

After the loss of Celta, I doubted my ability to love again or succeed as a social worker because I had my own problems so how could I help others. What I couldn’t predict was that I wound fall in love and discover just how amazing it would be to live as husband and wife, to love and be loved.

Moving to Wilmington for a technical writing job was what I needed to get back on track.

I was sacrificing the chance for a higher salary as an engineer because I felt compelled to assist others. Engineering held no real value for me, no matter how much money it could bring. The satisfaction of helping people through my work was more important to me than any salary or title. Plus, I would never get hired because I wasn’t an actor and couldn’t convince a would be employer that I was interested in any engineering job.

Because of my increased confidence in my ability to write poetry, I forced myself to attend the first of many open mic poetry readings at the Coastline Convention Center and committed myself that first evening to getting in front of others and sharing my poetry. I was aware that therapists have to lead therapy groups, so I better get used to being the center of attention.

The emcee was Dusty who was like a mother figure to me - kind and welcoming - this might have made it easier. After that first event, I started attending the readings and sharing my poetry every Sunday.

I started reading poems about the grief and loss of Celta and didn’t think I would ever find love again. I wrapped myself in the warmth and comfort that was created on these Sundays. This reflected my personality and desire to nurture experiences like this for myself and others.

Life should be like that for everyone - welcoming and nurturing.

While attending these events, I felt a new breath of confidence that was new. I wondered if it had to do with the experience of being loved by Celta. Despite the loss, the memory of someone seeing me as that special was transformative.

I met someone who interested me. I somehow found the courage to ask her out to attend a large poetry reading that was going to be held on Carolina Beach. This was a bigger event than the regular open mic events where I met Lynn. To my amazement she accepted my invitation and gave me her number.

On that first weekend together, at the close of a vibrant 4th of July, when someone she knew casually inquired if I was her boyfriend, she replied, “no, we are just friends.” I swallowed the sting of her words, convincing myself it had to be enough, for fear of upsetting the uncertain nature of this relationship. I let the currents of our connection carry us where they may.

But soon, the tide would turn. Before I even needed to label the relationship as more than friendship, I relentlessly demonstrated my devotion by making myself perpetually available, every single day. She was acutely aware that she was the sole focus of my affections.

Lynn was breathtakingly beautiful, a beacon of light that emerged from the shadows of loss and pain. In the wake of heartache, something extraordinary began to blossom.

Each moment with her was a testament to a life filled with joy, excitement, pleasure, and tranquility. I believed that this profound happiness and serene peace would be mine for ... forever in so much as I could think about that concept. Each moment was like eternity.

The first kiss was electric, searing itself into my memory with a force I could never have anticipated. It happened on the beach, where I had commanded my restless thoughts to silence, urging myself to exist solely in that moment. The crashing waves harmonized with the tranquility we shared, and suddenly, as if conjured by some unseen force, everything changed. There was no need to dissect our relationship status or analyze our feelings; the moment simply unfolded like a spell.

Our faces instinctively turned towards each other, eyes locking in a gaze that spoke volumes, a silent invitation to close the space between us. My face angled slightly to the right, and hers mirrored mine. We inched closer, drawn together by an undeniable force.

Our lips met, and remained pressed together, taking me somewhere I had never been previously. Her arms wrapped around my back, pulling me into an embrace that made the world fade away. If there were others nearby, they ceased to exist in my awareness. This public display of affection felt destined, intensely right.

A year had passed since a forgettable kiss on a date, one devoid of the magic and meaning that Lynn and I discovered in that fleeting moment on the beach. Our kiss was shorter in duration, yet it surged with an intensity that eclipsed anything I had known.

Her mother's retirement home, a sanctuary that was often empty, became our refuge. Even when her mother or stepfather were present, it didn't matter; our connection transcended their presence. Each day was punctuated by intimate and fervent kisses on her bed, an exploration that was both exhilarating and tender, yet never ventured further.

Then came the pivotal moment when I handed her the engagement ring. We had selected it together, a symbol etched into our future. The lady at the jewelry shop, with a knowing smile, mentioned, "Your fiancé can pick this up Monday."

She was already aware that I would have it in my possession when I arrived on Monday. Yet, before I could utter a single word or orchestrate the cherished moment every woman dreams of, I witnessed her face transform, tears of sheer joy cascading down her cheeks. The sight was so breathtaking that it stole the air from my lungs. I was overwhelmed with profound elation, knowing that I had the power to bring HER such unparalleled happiness.

In that heartbeat of a moment, I believed with every fiber of my being that our shared joy and tranquility would reverberate through eternity.

Peace and joy were what I had found. It was as if those two different things (joy with excitement) and peace could coexist at the same moment.

Helping people to heal as a therapist was another dream of mine that I was awaiting. It was obviously different than an exclusive relationship with a life partner but playing a transformative role in the lives of others was part of my dream and part of what I knew I wanted.

After getting engaged, Lynn's mother offered to buy us a house where we could live as husband and wife.

During our years together, it was amazing. I loved giving gifts and sharing my love for Lynn with others, even complete strangers. It felt spiritual. Even though I am shy, I still wanted to share details about my life as if I had discovered something full of awe and wonder and I wanted others to know about how good life could be.

We argued quite often but that was ironically what made this relationship healthy and I had developed a stable attachment style. If I said something hurtful, I would make amends right away.

For years we lived as husband and wife. I never took what I had for granted. I certainly never did anything that could cause Lynn to love me any less than what we were sharing. It never made sense to me the way some people do things to their spouses because they think that they have them and they won’t leave.

This experience of love is a story in itself. I truly couldn’t imagine it ending.

As I talk about my goals in life and my plans it occurs to me that I should talk about what Lynn might have wanted out of life. I certainly don't mean to imply that she lacked ambition.

First, let's consider my observations of our other friends who were poets and/writers. Many of them had a four-year degree in English. Some of those who were part of the poetry scene had degrees in other fields. By and large, though, most of them had a Bachelor of Arts in English.

If you are thinking as the world thinks or as people think in America, you might think that this degree is not very practical. That's because people only think about how they are going to make money with their degrees. They might say "what can you do with an English degree?"

By this time, I would have found that offensive and would have told anyone that I found it offensive. 

I know that my siblings and parents never made such statements to me or around us during this time period that were critical of people who don't get more "practical" degrees. That would have crossed a line and been obviously offensive to me based on who I was with - who I loved.

Dear reader, Did I say I loved Lynn? I'll get to that.

Anyway, yes, I had conversations with my siblings and parents during this time period. 

Lynn's self-esteem and assertiveness were contagious. That is one of the things I found so attractive about her. One of her statements that she commonly used was "that's unacceptable." I really wish I could think of a context where I heard this statement. I'm sure it might have been in relationship to something I said. The point is that I had become much more assertive too. I was no longer taking any kind of abuse from anyone.

I know my parents were very critical and judgmental of others and so I didn't talk about Celta that much because, at the time, I was not in a position to be assertive and say that I am profoundly offended by anyone saying anything critical or judgemental about Celta and the problems that she had. 

Things had changed when I was with Lynn. 

In many little ways, I would have made it evident that I would have rebuked any statement that was insulting or critical of something like the choice Lynn made to get a four-year degree in English. 

Anyway, I grew up in a household where the man is the head of the household and he supports his wife. This was not what I wanted nor would that have been acceptable to Lynn.

The next relevant fact is that Lynn had to qualify for an insurance program for people with Cystic Fibrosis. It was a state program that had income requirements. People with Cystic Fibrosis require medical care on an ongoing basis to maintain their health. In addition, she had medications to take. There was equipment that she needed for her health needs. The point is that she couldn't take a chance of not having medical coverage. Therefore, she had to limit her work hours and her income.

So, now, what were her dreams, or what did she want out of life? She had discussed with me the idea of getting a Master of Fine Arts (MFA) degree in poetry as our mutual friend Jean Jones had done. With his MFA he wasn't using it directly for employment purposes. 

Therefore, from a certain point of view, Jean wasn't using his degree, per se. This is relevant to the fact that I mentioned earlier that there was a misunderstanding about me not using my engineering degree. I had stated previously in this book that I definitely should have gotten a degree in English or Psychology to avoid the expectation that I would get a job as an engineer.

Jean had been published in academic press publications and had quite a publication history.

Lynn wasn't seeking that kind of recognition. She said her poetry was initially just for herself. Obviously, she was sharing it at the readings but that's it.

We both valued having someone in our lives that admired and respected us. So many people seem to instinctually look for a relationship as something they feel they ought to do. 

Lynn and I did value the relationship itself. If it had not been "right" or if there had been "problems" it would not have lasted. It seems like between Lynn and me, I was the only one who dreamed of a relationship and getting married as an important goal in life. That being said, our relationship just happened and it was surprising and unexpected. 

Of course, we argued. We were constantly talking about every little thing... the meaning of life for us... debating topics. I know how I felt when I said something mean or blurted out something. I didn't let much time pass before I apologized. I just don't remember anything that stuck in my mind as worthy of including in this narrative. I guess the reason is that we moved past any problem.

Gift-giving...

You think of holidays... Remember from the last chapter, how Donna and Kerri were so excited to get photos of the cute couple? Yeah, it was all magical and fun - delightful.

This was the first time I had thought about wanting to buy gifts for someone I loved. Yes, loved. After that evening around our one-year anniversary, when Lynn brought up the topic that we needed to declare that we were boyfriend and girlfriend, I had said "I love you" and she responded, "I love you too..." after that it was common and comfortable for us to say, "I love you."

She might have conceded that I was the more impulsive in the area of romance. I would be the first to say "I love you" many times - not always. She was more likely to call me "sweetie" or "honey" and I tended to just call her Lynn. It is only in retrospect that I realize how wrong I was not to use such terms of endearment. 

I did tell her those words "I love you" so extremely frequently. I wasn't shy about saying what I was feeling.

We both liked public displays of affection too. This would not diminish over time. I didn't have to be the one to take her hand. She was somewhat playful and mischievous. It wasn't corny like playing "footsy." She had a sense of what felt good to me. If we were out somewhere, she might take my hands and sit in my lap... caress my legs, or face and arms.

I remember Valentine's Day the February after we declared that we were boyfriend and girlfriend. I felt so good walking into a shopping center and looking at the roses. I asked someone for help because I had never done that before. We had discussed going for dinner. I must have hinted at what my plans were, and she was thinking that she would pay for dinner. We were going to go to a sushi place.

I wanted to be seen or noticed as I picked out the roses. Remember, I am a shy person, and yet here I was seeking to draw attention to myself.  It might have been at a grocery store, but it was just magical to me because I had wanted to be seen. Before my time with Lynn, I didn't bring attention to myself. I felt chills it felt so good. I felt like I was ten feet tall!

In the past, buying gifts for me was a quiet matter. But today, I just wanted to be noticed and I spoke up. "Hi, I need roses for my girlfriend" I declared so the employee would hear me and the other customer. "Yes, for the card, something decorative maybe? It should say 'I love you,' obviously. I guess I will write Lynn and sign Bruce." I wanted to be saying this out loud.

"Oh, you can pay at the register when you leave the store," she said. And I thought, "great, more people will see me carrying flowers for Lynn. They'll know I have someone special and someone who thinks I am special."

It was like the second Christmas. We both had ideas about what we wanted but I went to a jewelry store. I had no idea what to buy. I walked in and waited for the lady behind the counter to come.

"I need a gift for someone I love – my girlfriend." It seemed important to say more than just 'my girlfriend." I wanted to say "for someone I love" and for that to be heard by anyone and everyone. Yes, I, the shy person, wanted to be seen and noticed. 

"Okay, do you know what she prefers – silver or gold?"

"Silver," I declared. I wasn't being cheap, but I just knew she preferred silver. We looked and looked. I had to admit what my budget was, but I was thinking of Lynn and not trying to win the approval of a store clerk. She could tell that I was thrilled to find something that we thought was pretty. I had asked her opinion and another girl there who was a little younger. My dream-like smile must have given away my feelings, plus, there was the declaration that this was for "someone I love."

When we were together, everything about us said that there was no one else in our lives. Two creative types falling in love know what they feel. I guess. I mean we had not needed to say to each other that we aren't seeing anyone else.

I thought about everything that was happening in my mind, turning over the events. I didn't take anything for granted or think about it as a routine thing that happens in life. In other words, finding a girlfriend wasn't just a stage in my life that I had expected.

I know from my own observations that becoming a couple can be seen as an event that happens quite often. It could have been that way if I just followed the guidance of the future that was laid out for me when I was still growing up. You might get a sense of what is supposed to happen in life. At some point, boys will be into girls as the most important thing to them and vice versa.

Have you ever heard the song "That's the Way I've Always Heard It Should Be?" by Carly Simon? 

It's peaceful and sweet but there is a sense that there is a bit of melancholy as she sings:
"My friends from college they're all married now
They have their houses and their lawns
They have their silent noons
Tearful nights, angry dawns
Their children hate them for the things they're not
They hate themselves for what they are
And yet they drink, they laugh
Close the wound, hide the scar"

This was not like that. I had seen "love" in my family and elsewhere and this wasn't that. What I had seen was routine. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be, we weren't boyfriend and girlfriend because that was the way I always heard it should be. 

This was our own experience.

Also, Carly Simon seems to overuse the word "hate" regarding children hating their parents. Do any children hate their parents really? Hate is a feeling and not a choice in some instances and that feeling was something that I have felt but that's another story. 

Getting back to Lynn and our love...

A touch, a look, a smile, was a declaration of our love. We were two poets sharing our love publicly like reciting a poem.

The same could be said if someone saw us kiss. I'm not saying we kissed passionately in public and made others uncomfortable, but it was slower and more expressive – a slight pause to make sure our eyes met, a smile first, then a gentle meeting of our lips.

Some of the substance of this chapter includes things that I thought about holding back for later to avoid being repetitive. Our relationship would grow in intensity and I might want to describe a slightly similar scenario again.

If we had argued and she got upset, for me, I felt bad about us being mad. I would approach her, smile, say "I really love you and I'm really sorry." She would smile with amusement because she couldn't stay mad no matter how much she wanted to.

I hope it is obvious that it would not be acceptable for us to lose our temper and slap or hit. I just don't remember the substance of the arguments. That should be obvious and a given fact in every single relationship... but I have heard from females who were hit by their husbands. 

Let me jump ahead a bit to present how an argument might play out. I don't even know what we were fighting about but it got to the point that we were going out together for a book signing event in which our friend Jean Jones was releasing a chapbook of his at a coffee shop downtown. I was driving.

I think my brother and his girlfriend were with us. Note that the fight was not enough to keep us from our plans. Anyway, we took a seat upstairs. We sat down together without saying anything. I announced, "I'm going downstairs, I'll be back."

I walked downstairs and then approached Jean. "Let me get two copies, Jean," I said. Can you sign one to or for Lynn, please?"

I then ordered an iced tea and walked upstairs. Lynn had a sullen look on her face as I rounded the table. I guess she had not noticed the iced tea or maybe she didn't notice that it was prepared the way she liked it with a lemon.

I first handed her the chapbook and said, "This for you, Jean signed one for you, too."

Lynn looked at me and a smile spread across her face – an amused smile as she briefly looked at our guests and then back at me. "How can I stay mad at you when you do this?" She said with amusement.

I responded, "well, it doesn't mean that I don't love you just because we are fighting."

Anyway, that night my brother left soon after that either because he was bored or because he sensed that Lynn and I wanted time alone. I hesitate to give him too much credit for sensing such things. The ice had broken between Lynn and me and we wanted to make up for the lost time that evening.

What attracted me and what I shared with Lynn...

One of the things I mentioned above, in this chapter and earlier, was about her dreams, goals, interests in life. Perhaps she would get a Master of Fine Arts (MFA) degree. Oh, she also spoke of getting her own kiln – it's used for baking pottery (after you shape the pottery it must be put in the kiln). Anyway, I had not talked about my goals and plans.

Lynn was very practical, I noticed, and this was attractive to me. When I spoke about my plans or ideas for the future – e.g., my graduate education plans or job opportunities – she would ask questions, let me bounce ideas off her. I would be thinking out loud in a way. 

I would think out loud to her, saying "So, this is what I need to learn as I move into a career in the helping professions or the psychiatric field...." and I would discuss how I was thinking of paying for graduate school – yes, there are loans specifically for this purpose.

It was refreshing to have someone again who would hold my desires for success as I defined it in such high regard.

A deepening of the relationship...

As the relationship grew and we approached the second year the topic of marriage was being discussed by both of us. This was a conversation that emerged naturally, organically. It wasn't something that should or ought to happen. It just happened.

My life took a sharp turn when I met Celta, a person who would change everything. With no job prospects, I had no choice but to move in with my parents after graduating from Georgia Tech, a decision that almost immediately seemed like a big mistake.

My mother's relentless pressure to find employment weighed heavily on me, her constant reminder that I could go to school at night if only I had a job as an engineer. But it wasn't just her words that stung - for the first time, she actually wanted to spend time with me, only to use it as an opportunity to criticize and belittle me. The toxic atmosphere that pervaded our home left me feeling ashamed and unworthy. No wonder I avoided spending time with my own mother.

I didn’t eat too much food and so I was not a major extra burden on my parents. I wasn’t asking them to pay for graduate school.

I thought I would have a chance to prepare for the next phase of my life. Despite having 6 psychology classes, I knew I had much more to learn, more growth was necessary, and experience in something close to psychiatric social work.

I graduated in 1989 from Georgia Tech, moved in with my parents in North Augusta, South Carolina near Augusta, Georgia. I found out that there was a state psychiatric hospital called Georgia Regional Hospital in the nearby town of Augusta, Georgia. I approached the volunteer department and told them I was planning to get a Master of Social Work degree and wanted to get relevant experience and was willing to volunteer.

I was connected with the lead social worker on the intake unit and I explained that I wanted to get some experience in the field because I was coming from an engineering program which was a radically different type of background.

By the first part of January of 1990, I was a volunteer at Georgia Regional Hospital on the intake unit working for the social work team. I wasn’t just observing or doing busy work. I was doing the psychosocial intake assessments that the social work team did. I was learning what social workers did in a setting like this and I was learning about how diagnoses are made.

I continued to develop my capacity for empathy, my active listening skills, and I noticed that people were opening up to me. This setting created even greater challenges due to the nature of various mental illnesses.

I had met Celta early in 1990 in this same setting. She was in hospital due to her health. She had anorexia. One of the medical school interns had suggested that I could maybe talk to her to understand about anorexia because I had a cousin with that.

Later in my career I might have known and worried more about boundaries. I had not been assigned to do a psychosocial assessment or anything related to my role on the staff as a volunteer.

When I met Celta I explained that I was not approaching her as part of the staff or as part of my role on the social work team. The moment I approached her, she smiled before I could even explain these facts.

Celta and I never talked about her health. She was in the hospital for just over the first three months that I knew her. She would write diary entries of all her observations and she would share these inner personal thoughts with me when I saw her or she mailed them to me.

After her release from the hospital she stayed for a short while in Augusta but then I took her to stay with her mother in Athens, Georgia - an hour and a half away from me. Her father then put her up in an apartment.

I would see her every weekend. I also spoke to her everyday on the phone. It was almost like magic because I couldn’t imagine that love could develop so quickly and in such an unlikely way.

It was not long before I was telling her “I love you” and hearing those words back on every phone call, everyday. I felt such a sense of joy. Something that had always been missing was being fulfilled.

During my Georgia Tech days, I had friends who were couples. I would be friends with both partners. My best friends were Thomas and JoLee who got married to each other. With each of them, I knew I was not the most important person in their lives nor was I their top priority. I suppose there are echoes of the words from my mother speaking about my cousins and saying that “they have their own lives” and that idea existed with every friend I made while I was away at Georgia Tech.

I had still carried the beliefs from childhood when I was growing up. The truth was, I didn't know what love really was. I had experienced some degree of connection or validation from my friends. In my family, I was an inconvenience—something to be tolerated, not cherished. My world had been shaped by emotional deprivation, shame, and the belief that I was fundamentally unworthy of being seen, let alone loved.

Things were different with Celta. I had not told anyone before her those words “I love you” or heard those words from anyone. Not in the way I was experiencing things with Celta.

Celta and I would have a relationship that was just slightly more than platonic with so much time cuddling together, holding each other, walking hand-in-hand. Looking into each other's eyes. 

With this transformative experience, one event stands out. There was a moment where we were having a picnic at the Botanical Gardens. I was talking about something that I didn't think was very interesting but looking up, I saw that she was smiling with delight as she looked at me, transfixed upon me, hypnotized. 

This was just one of many moments… Moments like this transformed my sense of my value and worth to a person. I felt special finally.

As we took pictures in the park, I couldn't help but notice how delicate she seemed. Her mother suggested a pose where I would kneel and she would sit on my knee. But as we got lost in each other's eyes, she started to sway and almost fell into position, her tiny arms and body barely giving me any sense of how to catch her.

I was only 5’7” tall but with her 4'11" stature and her weight of only 70-80 pounds made me worry about how to catch her. Luckily she didn’t fall far, coming to sit on my leg with my soft gentle arms around her side and back. Luckily, I was instinctually very gentle and using instincts alone, faster than concrete thoughts, was able to find a soft way to catch her.

My friend had recently confided in me about the physical abuse she endured from her husband, even though he was not very big but as a guy he was stronger, she said. Indeed, this difference in size and strength was most profound between Celta and me. I was always a gentle person by nature and the idea of causing harm to someone I supposedly loved was unthinkable, as was harming anyone.

Despite the toxic environment at home, all those moments spent with Celta still allowed me to experience something amazing. She brought me immense joy and a sense of the possibility of love which I had never experienced before, and eventually this would open up opportunities for me.

But at home, I was constantly belittled and pushed into mundane jobs, with my hard-earned degree from Georgia Tech being dismissed as insignificant. The pressure to conform to their expectations and take any job available left me feeling small and ashamed because of my education. I would not judge others the way I was made to feel about myself.

In Celta's presence, however, I felt like a giant towering over the negative voices and expectations from my family.

At no time did my parents ask who was making me happy… What I might want for the future… How might I achieve my goals and plans? They were utterly disinterested in anything that mattered to me or made me happy.

I learned about the death of Celta on New Year’s Day, 1991. I cried more than everyone else at the funeral combined.

For the next year and just over 3 months, I lived with my parents. This time without the support of Celta. I did go to a grief recovery group. I turned 25 in 1991, and the other members of the group were older people, mainly ladies past retirement age.

I had various jobs, with only one related to my software engineering degree.

I questioned how I could help others while dealing with my own problems and how I dealt with the loss of Celta.

My mother introduced me to a professor and poet named Martin Kirby, who became my mentor in writing. Through a temporary job offer, I moved away from my parents for the last time.

These experiences with Celta and working at Georgia Regional Hospital helped me continue to make advances made at Georgia Tech in overcoming social anxiety and would be useful for leading therapy groups as a clinical social worker/therapist in the future. Despite the tragic loss of Celta, I gained valuable personal growth.

I met Lynn and started seeing her around the 4th of July of 1992. I had been grieving the loss of Celta when I came to Wilmington in April of 1992.

I found love briefly with Celta and yet she died so suddenly and at such a young age. I was devastated. I didn't think I would feel, or experience love again. Then I met Lynn in 1992. We fell madly, and passionately in love. The poems that follow are about that love. I wanted to tell the story to all those who would ever follow me in the later generations about some epic love to rival any husband and wife or any couple.

We lived as husband and wife and were married in every way that mattered. As a Catholic at the time, I sought the sacrament of Holy Matrimony from the Church, but they denied us—the disgusting attitude that someone born with a debilitating illness should be denied access to the sacred! This treatment of Lynn, among many other harmful attitudes, pushed me away from religion.

Lynn was willing to embrace any way of symbolically representing our everlasting devotion, even though she wasn't Christian. We both wanted to formally move from engagement to the next stage of formal commitment to one another forever. Now, no longer religious, I can see that if the sacred exists at all, no secular piece of paper could make our bond more holy than it already was.

For years we had a normal relationship, and the fact that she had a chronic genetic illness did not define our relationship.

Our love created a sense of tranquility and serenity at its core—a deep peace and contentment that existed at all times, even when I was depressed, which was merely a transitory feeling that would pass.

In its purest form, love is distinguished from addiction, which is momentary and transitory. We do not pursue a high that we once had and cannot reach again—that would be like implying that once we discover an awe-inspiring sunrise we need a more beautiful sunrise to feel that same sense of awe.

Love is also like beauty in the sense that it's best experienced as opposed to merely being stated like some universal truth. Creative people express these experiences of awe and wonder in many forms.

These poems capture more than fleeting moments—they hold experiences where physical sensations became markers of something profound, eternal, and awe-inspiring. Each moment contained vastness, pointing to the spiritual that even non-believers in the supernatural can embrace. They are signifiers of what endures and give ultimate meaning to what really matters.

An Infinite Beach

On some beach
that never ends
I'm with her
and just for a moment
I pretend
that things never change
that sometimes,
in moments like this
we walk hand-in-hand
forever.
This is my greatest desire -
to stop time
like this...
when there is just this place,
just these beach sounds
and just
she and I.

What Really Matters

Moments
frozen in time.

That is what love
seems to be...
these moments you remember
something in these moments
(takes my breath away)
has a certain meaning
that endures -

a feeling...
an image...
something said...
or shared...
certain sounds
in the background...
whatever it is that
you remember
is all that really matters.

Introduction: We walked into the Coastline Convention Center that Sunday evening in 1995, hand-in-hand as usual, overlooking the Cape Fear River where the weekly poetry readings were held. Lynn had no idea I had a surprise for her.

We took our seats at a table with other regulars—all friends and acquaintances who knew us as the couple we were, always like newlyweds, never afraid of public displays of affection. The sun was sinking low, and the room was getting slightly dark with just a dim light up front near the podium.

When my time came, I stepped boldly to the microphone. As I read this new poem, I could sense the knowing glances from people in the room—casual looks toward Lynn as everyone understood what was happening. I wonder if she noticed those glances, waiting for her reaction to this declaration of love.

Dreamlike Visions

In this dreamlike vision 
I lay in her lap,
while her golden hair
flows in the gentle wind,
On the beach.

Is this real?
I reach up to touch her
but she is gone... gone... gone
and I am laying on the sand.

Looking skyward I see her
in a vision.
She searches for me,
calling my name, saying,
"I am his and he is mine."

I try to get back
to find her
and that infinite beach
where we would walk hand-in-hand
or lay on the sand
holding each other
together
forever.

The vision -
the dream -
(incomplete)
the love
never ends...
The dream never
ends.

Follow-up to the poem: I sat back down next to Lynn as someone else prepared to read. I noticed she was doodling. One of our mutual friends commented on how much he liked the poem. I turned to Lynn and asked, "So, what do you think?"

"What?" she said, looking up confused. "I'm sorry, I wasn't listening."

I shook my head and smiled. She was embarrassed, her face blushing. "I thought you were only reading poems I already heard," she said. "Oh, I'm so sorry sweetie. Let me read it."

I handed her the poem and leaned in close, my arms resting on her chair. I tilted my head and slowly brought my lips to hers. She held my lips there with her hands on both sides of my face—just for a moment, mindful of the others around us.

"It's okay," I said with a smile. "You know what... I really love you."

"I love you too, honey."

She read the poem, visibly moved by this surprise declaration of love.

This became an inside joke for us. I would tease her: "If I share a poem about our love, I hope Lynn is listening?" Her way of making up for it was to read this poem at future poetry events when she didn't have anything else to share. I can't count the number of times that happened, it demonstrated her appreciation and recognition of the value of our love.

I explained that the poem was inspired by the Song of Songs from the Old Testament and a song by the Electric Prunes called "I Had Too Much To Dream (Last Night)." I was drawn to the sensual imagery in both—the biblical celebration of love between two people committed to each other, and the dreamlike quality of the song that captured something both beautiful and haunting about love and longing.

In Love

Some would say they understand 
that it is not that uncommon... 
a word that is overused 
because I can't find another word.

People walking past us 
might have seen us holding hands 
they might have known 
there was love.

Yet they would not understand... 
the miraculous experience 
of her hand in mine 
as we walked by the ocean. 
They would not understand 
the experiences – physical and emotional 
signifiers of something worthy 
of belief.

When we sat side by side 
facing the ocean waves, 
hearing them in the background 
seeing them - 
moved by something unseen - 
our bodies were touching 
and the best analogy for what I experienced 
was electrical signals moving 
at each point where our bodies 
our legs, arms, thighs 
were in contact.

This was not merely something 
physically pleasurable, 
not merely biological 
emotional, chemical.

No, I knew that. 
I have felt passion 
but rarely have I felt 
love – though I have been 
mistaken more times than I can count... 
Meaningless encounters 
where the emptiness remained.

That core Self within me 
ready for connection was not 
fulfilled like it was now.

Waves of excitement, peace, 
serenity, joy, clarity 
flowed through moments 
pregnant with meaning. 
Each moment was vast in duration 
each moment held eternity.

I had an epiphany and knew 
what mattered, what gave life meaning 
what filled that emptiness within 
that brought forth the fullness of the 
Self.

The feelings, moving in waves 
were markers of the profound - 
physical sensations that pointed beyond 
themselves to something transcendent, 
something that could not be reduced 
to chemistry or biology alone.

I have known alcoholics that look 
to a higher power. 
I have known the religious who 
speak of a God who alone 
can fill that emptiness 
within.

Everyone is looking 
for what will complete them, 
searching for transcendence 
in substances, in faith, 
in achievement, in escape.

But I have found something - 
I believe in something - 
I believe in love.

I can't prove it exists 
beyond hormonal desires 
beyond biological drives 
beyond what science can measure.

But I know what I experienced: 
love that is true 
and real 
and right...

Love that transforms 
without diminishing, 
that changes you 
without erasing who you are, 
that asks you to grow 
but never to disappear, 
that leads toward transcendence 
while keeping you whole. 
It shows you eternity 
in peaceful moments 
yet never asks you to sacrifice 
the fire of excitement, 
the expansion of joy, 
the sharp clarity of being fully alive, 
the creative force that moves through 
two people connected 
in the deepest way possible - 
embodying what it means 
to be complete 
while remaining yourself.

I Wrote a Love Poem Once

I wrote a love poem once...
I felt it was good -
I remember how good it felt -
the love...
to write the love poem,
to share it,
to dedicate it.
I felt the poem was good.

It was many years ago...
lost - lost in the fire,
as it were,
the love...
the love poem.

I forget how it goes
the love...
the love poem.

 

I just cannot remember
the words I wrote...
but I know I wrote
a love poem,
once...
or twice or more...

I can't quite remember
how it goes -
that feeling,
that certainty,
that desire to feel
that again.

Introduction to Poem “The Whole Story”

Our mutual friend Jean once observed that he saw us argue often, and I was shocked by his concern. Years later, after experiencing a relationship where disagreements felt threatening, where conversations could end with hang-ups, where love itself seemed in jeopardy over differences of opinion - I finally understood what Jean had missed.

With Lynn, I never hung up the phone. When she said, 'I'm not done talking,' I never said we couldn't keep talking. The cognitive dissonance I felt when Lynn challenged my beliefs didn't threaten our bond—it transformed my thinking, because I respected her completely and knew she respected me. Isn't it strange and amazing when you can become so frustrated and irritated in a relationship with someone special but still maintain that pervasive sense of happiness and contentment! Even despite all the fights and arguments, there was always an underlying joy. That is the ineffable nature of what we had—something taken out of context might look like conflict, but within the whole story, it was actually love expressing itself freely.

The Whole Story

Our love is now like an epic novel,
thousands of pages in length, 
with most pages torn 
others burned - in the tragic fire.

 I tried to save what I could 
believing it was worth saving
or worth holding onto - 
believing that nothing dies 
but in the end, 
what do I have? 

 

Just scraps of the book...

Even the ring that symbolized 
the bond of husband and wife 
is gone.

We wrote the book together - 
I remember how it was, 
page after page, 
chapter after chapter, 
lie scattered around a room 
in a forgotten home 
in a forgotten place 
like dark shadows 
under a hazy sky.

Page after page, 
written with a purpose 
written with love.

Sure, there were chapters 
that didn't seem to belong 
or have any purpose that could be understood 
but every part of the story 
had a purpose and place, 
whether good or bad 
within the larger narrative.

This was a story to be told 
for generations to come - 
passed down within the family 
and as part of a cultural tradition.

Looking back, 
at the whole book 
and not just a chapter here 
or there, 
taken out of context, 
you see a theme 
which emerges out of the many 
unplanned chapters.

It was always about love 
and that matters 
more than the quality of the narrative... 
it matters more than 
how things might have seemed 
at any one moment in time.

Samantha asks Darrin,
"Are you happy?"

Darrin says,
"I have a beautiful wife,
a beautiful daughter,
a nice home, a great job…
Yes, I am happy."

Darrin believes Sam loves him.
But is he happy because Sam loves him
or because he loves Sam?

Earlier, he was stressed—
a demand from work,
pressure from his job.

So, does his job make him happy?
Or does his job only make him happy
because of the love of Sam,
his love for Sam,
and his love for Tabitha?

But Darrin doesn’t need Tabitha
to love him.
She is too young
to love in a way he would notice.

They say you shouldn’t need a relationship
to be happy.

They say you must first love yourself.
That you must already be happy.
That no relationship
can give you
what you don’t already have.

If that’s true,

then would Darrin still be happy
without Sam?
Would Sam still be happy
without Darrin?

Could they lose each other
and be just as fulfilled?

Darrin was happy before he met Sam.
But this happiness is different.
This happiness is more.

Darrin cannot say
that life would be just as good
without their love.

Would Sam say the same?

If they lost each other,
wouldn’t they grieve?
Wouldn’t they ache?
Wouldn’t they know, undeniably,
that what they had
was greater
than what they were alone?

Since Darrin loves Sam,
and since Darrin believes
that Sam loves him,
and since Sam believes
that Darrin loves her,

then neither must have needed
to be in a relationship to be happy.

And yet—

if they lost their love,
would they be happy?

Wouldn’t that happiness—
the happiness they were told
had to exist independently—
collapse under grief?

Then was it ever separate at all?

What is the meaning
of Sam’s love for Darrin?
What is the meaning
of Darrin’s love for Sam?

What is the meaning of each’s love
for themselves?

What is the meaning of happiness?

What is the meaning of life?

"My job is not
to make you happy,"
says Leticia, the therapist
whose name means
full of joy.

I don’t understand.

Then what is your job?
What are we working toward?
What is therapy for
if not to create something
other than depression?

Feelings change.
Be mindful.
Observe.
Describe.
Participate.

Move away
from thinking about what is happening.
Be present.

But—

I notice sadness.
I want to notice happiness.

Is that not a goal?

"You were held back
by thoughts about the situation."

But what if I am held back
by the situation itself?

Consider this.

I once assessed
why a woman needed
a psych evaluation.

"I am here because
I am too happy," she said.

"That is strange, isn’t it?" I asked.

Surely, there was more
to her story.

Or consider Lucia.
Lucia is 14.

Asked when she remembers
being happy,
she cannot remember
such a time.

I suspect Major Depression.
I suggest therapy,
so she can feel happy.

What is your role, Leticia?
Let’s talk about goals.

Because if I asked you—
"Are you happy?"
your answer would
forever change,
according to your philosophy.

But I—

I have known a time
when I was happy.

A time when
happiness lived in me—
not fleeting,
not conditional,
not something to simply observe
and let pass.

A time when,
despite transient moments of sadness,
I was still happy at my core.

And yet—

Even then,
out of habit,
I told the person I loved,
"I am depressed."

Words that no longer fit me.
Words that once defined me.
Words that could hurt her—
make her believe
she brought me no happiness.

But happiness had changed me.
It lived inside me.
It did not deny sadness.
It did not erase struggle.

And yet,
it remained.

I love you loving me.
You love me loving you.

I love you loving me—
loving you—
loving me.

You love me loving you—
loving me—
loving you.

I am happy that you love me.
But unhappy if you don’t.

I think—
I don’t need you to love me
for me to love myself.

And yet,
I love you
loving me—
and us,
loving each other.

She loves me.
I feel good.

I was happy—
(a little, somewhat…
in a different way)
before she loved me.

So maybe,
I don’t need her love.

She is angry that I
don’t need her love.

He is angry
that she is angry
that he doesn’t need her love—

because she should know—
you have to love yourself
before anyone can love you.

…Or something like that.

I didn’t love you loving me,
before you started loving me.

If you stopped loving me,
I would not be happy.

But I was happy—
(theoretically)—
before you loved me.

And that is how you could love me.

Right?

You wouldn’t love me
if I didn’t love me.
But we would be unhappy
without our love.

Wouldn’t we?