So if I asked you about art you could
give me the skinny on every art book
ever written...Michelangelo?
You know a lot about him I bet. Life's
work, criticisms, political aspirations.
But you couldn't tell me what it smells
like in the Sistine Chapel. You've
never stood there and looked up at
that beautiful ceiling. And if I asked
you about women I'm sure you could
give me a syllabus of your personal
favorites, and maybe you've been laid
a few times too. But you couldn't
tell me how it feels to wake up next
to a woman and be truly happy. If I
asked you about war you could refer me
to a bevy of fictional and non-fictional
material, but you've never been in
one. You've never held your best
friend's head in your lap and watched
him draw his last breath, looking to
you for help. And if I asked you about
love I'd get a sonnet, but you've never
looked at a woman and been truly
vulnerable. Known that someone could
kill you with a look. That someone
could rescue you from grief.
That God had put an angel on Earth
just for you. And you wouldn't know
how it felt to be her angel. To have
the love be there for her forever.
Through anything, through cancer. You
wouldn't know about sleeping sitting
up in a hospital room for two months
holding her hand and not leaving because
the doctors could see in your eyes
that the term "visiting hours" didn't
apply to you. And you wouldn't know
about real loss, because that only
occurs when you lose something you
love more than yourself, and you've
never dared to love anything that much.
