For the Ladies
1 December 1998
I Will Never Be As Romantic As He Is
In the pitiless struggle for your favor into which fate has cast me
and that other guy, I am woefully held back by my lack of ability to
express myself romantically, to let you see, hear, and know what has
burned inside me since the day we met. How I wish that I, not he,
could be the suave, smooth, convincing one in this fateful contest.
But how could you know that my desire for you is sincere? I have
taken you to fine restaurants where we have dined on delicious food,
to the movies, and in the future, I hope, to concerts given by the
finest musicians, whose music we both enjoy. But compared to the
tender actions he offers, these are nothing, and I can only hope that
you see through my inadequate professions of romance to what is
within.
Every morning, he visits the place where you sometimes get your
breakfast coffee, and every morning he sits patiently watching the
door from behind his newspaper. Although he does not speak to you
even when you do arrive, he offers you his romantic presence in the
hope that you will appear. But although we have sipped fine coffee
together, seated at the same table and making coffee-related and
non-coffee-related conversation, I have not spent whole mornings at
any coffee places, even those I know you like, waiting for you to
maybe come in. Perhaps I lack a romantic nature, perhaps I'm too
reserved. But all I can think of is how I want to express my delight
in you in this way as he can, as it comes naturally to him.
I know that we participated in some of the same activities in high
school, even though we went to different schools in different states,
and we have that in common like so much else, but although we have
discussed this and other aspects of our lives in our walks together, I
have not even shown the tender consideration to visit your home town
library, find your high school yearbook, and look through all the
pictures to cut out all those in which you appear. And lacking such
pictures, I have not made any part of my home into a photographic
gallery devoted to you. I have not composed any web pages full of
pictures of you. How could you suppose other than "he must never
think of me?" But that is not the case.
In the too-short time that I have known you, we have visited some
bookstores and other shops, and found that we share interests in a lot
of the same stuff. But although I care enough about you to take an
interest in the stuff you buy when we have gone shopping together, I
imagine that you must think that I don't care about the stuff you
throw away. I have never so much as opened the lid of your trash,
much less sorted through it to glean what I can about the routine of
your life from it. Let me at least assure you that I have suffered
sleepless nights, cursing myself for my inability to show my affection
for you, because I have not gone through your trash as he has.
Can you begin to see that there is something inside me that calls out
to you, and that I just need time to bring out my romantic side? All
I can ask you for is a little understanding, and soon I will learn to
express myself romantically as he does. Please do not choose to make
him the center of your life until you give me a chance to do this.