I'm self-centered. I admit it. I have always admitted it.
In general, I
can't put someone else's needs ahead of my own. I can't even
equate them to my own. I must look out for number one, and
unfortunately number one is me.
We all want to
be loved, and we're willing to give affection in return. But
merging one's self completely with another person, pulling up stakes
to be there, giving up one's own life? "Whither thou
goest, I will go"? That's a route that I haven't wanted to take.
in college someone meant enough
to me that I wrote the following to her. I broke into poetry,
into a sonnet even.
But then, of
course, I kept the note to myself. I find it now, loose, among
significance of the title, if any, has been lost. In the line
in which it appears, it may be there merely for the rhyme; it even
breaks the scansion, although in an effective way.)
come as close to loving you as I will ever come to loving another.
The sparkle, enthusiasm, which made me feel liked by a wonderful person.
the sparkle, or give more enthusiasm to someone else, and I feel
rejected. My hands are tied. I'm unable to get through to
you. I fail.
But can I
claim to love thee? Wherefore so?
that I would give my life for thine
circumstance demand that one must go.
instead to live this life of mine.
Or if I
lived a thousand miles away,
not fly to meet thee at thy call,
thy weak'ning spirits or to play,
my work for days withal.
It is a
pattern deep within my grain:
naught how lovely thou may be,
much happiness I hope to gain;
give all my love, my life, to thee.
thee not, then? Item four:
never love another person more.