To Love Somebody
Entry 1. 9:22 a.m. After I discovered the affair and stopped sleeping in the marital bed, Jenny would often sleep with a picture of us on her side of the bed. Sometimes, she would go to sleep holding it. It was almost poignant. Still, she wouldn't stop the affair. She was dying. I felt so sad for her. Believing in her sincerity, which had long ago departed, I agonized over her sorrow. I loved her. Despite this, or perhaps because I loved her , I never gave in, never slept in the bed until she turned toward death. But, I was heartbroken and privately questioning if my resolve was cruelty. To find out as she was dying, that these emotions of hers, this sorrow and regret, were some sort of fun house kaleidoscopic mirror, less substantial than shadows of gossamer, made me feel the fool who had no limits to his guilelessness. We want to believe the people who we are with love us. To find that we can at best read tea leaves leaves me with little hope for a future of trust. ...