on
10/6/2001
There is nothing more frightening than communicating.
James fell in love, but he kept a secret. That secret had a name, and while she wasn't his lover, she had been. When James's love found out about the secret, she was upset; James had expected this, but he had tried to retain his secret none the less. His love needed answers, but he feared the communication that would be needed to give them to her more than he feared what would happen to his love. He disappeared, and cut off all communication. So, because he didn't communicate, and then he couldn't communicate, and then he made it impossible to communicate, he lost his love and hurt her more than he ever could have by communicating. (Keep in mind, his secret was no longer his lover.)
Emily left her lover for another man. She hurt her lover, but she never lied to him. She told her lover that she didn't know herself outside of a relationship, before leaving him for the other man. Still I say she never lied to him. The other man had been her lover's friend; he needed a reason to lose a friend. He needed to believe that he had loved Emily, and only Emily, for many years, in spite of making similar overtures to another woman a few months before. Emily's lover, after she left him, told her repeatedly that he wanted her to be happy, but he constantly hurt her with his bitter questions. None of these people lied to each other. Is this proof that communication hurts more than evasion and untruth, or proof that communication outside is worthless without its counterpart within?
Take a hard situation apart, like a set of Russian dolls, and notice that somewhere in any episode of hurt there is a core of uncommunication. Labor, strain, pick and question until every unfolding layer can be seen in context, and say, if you can, that I'm wrong.
In the meantime, I'll be here, attempting...
Touch the Toast