I saw someone — fleetingly — who reminded me of her. This is what I have to look forward to, these little snippets of memory as long as I breathe, surprising me from time to time. My feelings for her remain, and the questions remain, too. There were times I wished I could ghost myself into her somehow, to live among her thoughts and feel her heartbeat, to soak up the rhythm and rhyme of such a beautiful creature, to truly understand who she is and why she is what she is. Yes, I want to be like her. No, I don't want to change my gender, but we often desire to be like those we love, emulating them to ridiculous degrees. Psychologists call it mirroring or bonding or whatever label they feel like attaching. But it's just wonderment, sometimes awe, because we found someone really special, and we want to be special like them. We fall far short of being like them, of course, but that does not stop us from trying. Little does she know I already took things she said or did to heart, forever rearranging my life. Because of her, I am a better person. I am changed. But I am not like her. There is only one of her. If I am a hunter, then she is the wariest prey. I may as well try to capture the wind. There is no need to succeed, but there is a desire to try.
I want to know what makes her smile, laugh, and cry. I want to know what triggers her to ponder something deeply, to brush something aside, to listen closely, or to shut down. What things cross her mind a thousand times a day? What things linger? What things never stay long? What makes her catch her breath or laugh out loud? What things has she never told a soul? I want to pour myself next to her heart, to feel it bursting with love or twinging with sorrow, to know what makes it race or what calms and reassures her. What makes her feel bold? What makes her feel timid and small? What does her soul race toward and what does she shy away from? For what is she grateful and for what is she ashamed? For whom does her heart clamor? I can guess some of those, but I will never know. She is a mystery locked beneath an exterior too lovely to crack.
What great treasuries does she hold in her heart? What great storehouses of memories and knowledge does she have in her head? And the question above all other questions — far beyond my lonely question for her — is why is she so kind? What made her that way, often in spite of so much unfairness? Why did she get sweeter and lovelier and kinder while I got meaner and uglier and bitter? Where does she get that kind of love? From what storehouse does she continually draw it? Yes, I want to be like her, if only for a day. If I can hold her hand someday, then maybe I can see things through her eyes and understand at least in part how she did things I could never do. She will never know I am drawing these truths out, just like she never knew I was doing it before. But I will watch her closely for the answers. Yes, I know that is wishful thinking. Rare specimens like her do not spend their lives with common creatures such as me. But I know my heart, and my heart needs hope of a someday, even if that someday never comes. I think we long to be near (and marry) people we admire because we want to be like them on some level, in some way, if at all possible. It is hope and love — empowering one another — that drives us. And that is where I will close. Someday. Somewhere. By some miracle. I hope.
Thank you for reading. God bless.
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