"Children, Broad Ripple is burning..."

Two weeks and I don't know what is worth writing; every beginning feels like it will end. And end in the feeling that blogs like mine are far too self-congratulating; far too anti-social to be suffered even in Texas. And I'm not in Texas.

Even so, I realized that I love making others feel loved, and that with you it's different. It's different because I'm half in love with you -- and because it's the half I don't trust.

The half that loves you, loves you with no rhyme or reason; no track record. No reasonable rate of return. It's a love I can't define or pin down or explain, and I'm probably wise when I try to explain it away. But then there it is still, when I half look: that half of my love that you own, but have never come close to claiming.

So while I do love to make others feel loved, I can't do this for you. Not when with you I only have half my love left; not when you haven't filled that rift with half of yours.

It's dishonest even to try, really -- although I do at times try, and I am in fact dishonest. But at the end of this beginning, I stand by the proposition that dishonesty is a thing generally to be avoided, when one can be so wily. When one cannot, however, one must fall back on her more loyal defenses. Like the white flag of play-dumb friendship. Safety in the scarcity of color.

And the cat, curled up on the lap, gently clawing at the keyboard. Altogether unimpressed.

-L (5/27/13)

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