And yet again

"From the day when Pierre, after leaving the Rostovs' with Natasha's grateful look fresh in his mind, had gazed at the comet that seemed to be fixed in the sky and felt that something new was appearing on his own horizon--from that day the problem of the vanity and uselessness of all earthly things, that had incessantly tormented him, no longer presented itself. That terrible question 'Why?' 'Wherefore?' which had come to him amid every occupation, was now replaced, not by another question or by a reply to the former question, but by her image. When he listened to, or himself took part in, trivial conversations, when he read or heard of human baseness or folly, he was not horrified as formerly, and did not ask himself why men struggled so about these things when all is so transient and incomprehensible--but he remembered her as he had last seen her, and all his doubts vanished--not because she had answered the questions that had haunted him, but because his conception of her transferred him instantly to another, a brighter, realm of spiritual activity in which no one could be justified or guilty--a realm of beauty and love which it was worth living for." -- Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace, book 9, chapter XIX

Tolstoy has yet again captured the essence of what it is that makes you so captivating and unforgettable. I don't know upon whom he based the character of Natasha, but if I believed in reincarnation I would swear it was you in a previous life. I suppose that I'm being vain to think that you are the only woman to have ever had this quality of transcendent luminosity. I learned recently that Audrey Hepburn played her in the movie, which is about as perfect a casting as I've ever seen.

This time, though, it is a different man who is in love with her. The character, in fact, in whom I find the most of myself: Pierre, who is large, introverted, generally misjudged and misunderstood, but profoundly kind-hearted and generous. I strongly suspect that it is he who comes to the realization, at the end of the book, which is found in the quotation in my byline to the right on this blog.

"That grateful look" which is fixed in Pierre's mind corresponds exactly to the look you gave me as you walked off the front porch, leaving the party that day--the last day that we were friends. It is fixed forever in my mind and my heart.

"You are to me an object intensely desirable--the air I breathe in a room empty of you is unhealthy."

-- John Keats

There are days when I just sort of go about my business, not thinking about you all that much. Not that my feelings are gone, or are any different--just that I'm not really engaged with them. They're still there, and still what they are, but they're sort of boxed up and set aside for the time, and I'm more or less alright.

Then there are days when I struggle with anger, resentment, and jealousy. I'm not proud of those things, and I don't give in to them or let them rule me. But I'm human, and sometimes they raise their heads. 

But then there are days when I'm so unbelievably in love with you that I have a hard time comprehending it myself. Even still, after all the thinking and speaking and writing and praying I've done about it. It's breathtaking. Today is such a day.

One of the many, many things I wish I could do over again is--well, pretty much everything from just after I gave you that basket of raspberries until the very last time I ever saw you or conversed with you. But specifically, I wish I could have been who I am now when I first told you that I was in love with you. Nevermind, for now, how it's impossible, because without having gone through all that followed, I wouldn't have become who I am. Just pretend with me for a moment. If I had it to do now, it would have gone something more like this, after I wrote you the first request to talk, and you wrote me back, guessing what I wanted to talk about:

"Yes, you have guessed correctly. It's true that I've fallen in love with you. I know it's quite ridiculous, and I didn't set out to do it. I actually fought quite hard against it, to be honest. Not because there is absolutely any reason that I would not want to be with you--but because I just never thought it would be practical or realistic, and so didn't allow myself to think of you in that light. Really, though it is impossible to know you and not to love you. You must see that. I'm confident that this is not the first time you've encountered your power to inspire love in men.

But be that as it may, the reason I asked to speak with you was not to try and persuade or sway you, but to see how you want to proceed. Seriously: just an honest, truthful conversation to  try and together find our way forward from here. Because, as you said, good friendship requires openness and honesty. And I value your friendship more highly than I can begin to express here, and don't want to lose it at any cost."

I don't know if it really would have made any difference to you, if I had been able to express myself (and contain myself) better. And of course, it doesn't change anything now. But it makes me feel a little better to re-visit it; and it would be wonderful if it made you feel a little better about it as well.