I was with Kathy for a year. We spent a hell of a lot of time together, especially considering all the classes we were taking. There were very few nights that we did not spend curled together, luxuriating in each others' presence. I recall still one night in which we simultaneously half-woke, rolled into each others' arms, and fell asleep again. She inspired and encouraged aspects of me that had lain dormant, but that, once awakened, caused me to like myself more than I had. I had never felt so at one with another person. Both of us were looking for love--and came, I think, so close to finding it that thinking about the margin by which we missed still hurts like hell. Both of us wanted to believe that we had found it in each other, and indeed, we had found enough that we could convince ourselves for a while that it was true. But I did not inspire the passion in her which she had known, lost, and still sought, and knowing that she didn't completely love me, I could not be entirely in love myself. I knew that I wasn't all that she wanted, and I wanted her to be happy. . .so I gave her leave to explore, if she wished, other possibilities--other people. She did, and what she found gave her cause for hope, so we parted.
The first time I heard the last verse of this song, I cried out in pain. It was what Kathy had told me, fairly early on in our relationship. . .she had spent the last few years insulating herself from needing someone else when I came along and (for once in my life) said exactly the right thing at the right time. I believed her--I still do--but I know now that part of the reason that she did not love me was due to something that I am not. Whether it's something that I have any control over or not, I don't know. . .but which is worse--to be not loved for something that you inherently are not, or for something that you have made yourself to be?
2 February 1996