A certain Alice, again

Sad to see you again, but this time it’s all right.

It was just a year and a half ago that I first met you, and back then I had stupidly and shallowly fallen in love with you. You were a wreck back then, and you still kind of are. But it’s okay enough now, since I understand.

Is it strange to love someone who is going away so steadfastly? My heart calls out solemnly from the back, rallying that tired cry of righteousness, that would have had me rushing headlong into you if I were younger. As an older person now I still hear that impulse and cherish it with the reservation of knowledge over time. As my famous former stepfather-in-law once told me, life is short. That is the Name of Life, isn’t it? Inochi-no namae?

I really missed you all of this time after all. I hate to say it because I know you are such a roughneck and it can be so dangerous to, but I love you. Hell, what do I know about what is dangerous anymore, anyway? What with my roommates throwing it all away over far less, and I never even let my heart out to them. I’m not a fearful person, and I suppose that’s a good thing, because it frees me to follow the part that compels me towards what is right.

I really enjoyed watching you put up with that preschooler living in your house like a mother for hours on end, even though it was a constant intrusion upon more adult conversations we wanted to have together. It is nonsensical for you to be such a mother to him just because he doesn’t have one anymore, but so obviously righteous that it kills me there isn’t more gratitude poured out in your honour.

People don’t think enough of the sacrifices made for them, and it especially hurts people like you and I to see betrayals and hurt made real. I don’t know what’s wrong with us, but it’s a curse that afflicts us both: we cannot silence or deny our moral resolve. It’s the part of me I value most of all, and I have to admit to seeing it in you. It’s a stubborn, angry, self-righteous and indignant part, but it’s a logical part and it is rarely wrong. In a world of missed connections and miscommunications, that matters a lot.

I’m really saddened to learn that you are sick, and that you won’t get better from that sickness. I had laid down and cried together with you talking about the children you won’t get to have or the moments you won’t get to see, and I would gladly do it again right this second. I wish I could take back ten years from father time and have a family with you today, but it will never happen. And as much as I hate to admit it, these things matter less to me than my compulsion to embody that moral spirit we share that drives our lives.

I just want to see you do it again, how you do every day. I want to be a shoulder for you, and perhaps the warmth you have been missing, even if it leads to nothing greater or nothing more. I want to be a person for you voluntarily in the shadows, always a call away. I want to be the person who doesn’t betray you, even if it’s predicated on loss and sorrow.

It may be stupid, but at least it’s right. You have put up with enough.