|
||||||||||
 |
 |
||
 |
January 20 Sometimes you ask me the silliest questions: What would I do if you died before me? If you were sick, would I resent taking care of you? If you were confined to a wheelchair and could never make love, would I still be in love with you? What kinds of questions are these to ask? What causes you to even think this way? How can you ask me all these questions? How can you sit there reading my thoughts? How can you articulate all that I am feeling – ask me questions that have just formed in my mind? When you hurt, I feel the pain. We both recognize that when one of us begins to cry, tears will form in the other’s eyes. Your questions are my questions. Your fears are mine. Your love is my love. They intertwine. Sometimes you ask me the silliest questions. Just when I’m about to ask you the same. Could it be we have a connection? Your love and my love – they’re one and the same? |
 |
 |
||
| Site Map |