To my friend, R.

Once upon a time when you were in love with me you made me mix CDs. And I loved you for yourself, and for them, and for loving me, but I didn't want you the way you wanted me. I now know what that feels like. I still think I know better; we wouldn't be good together, but I can sympathize. Now I make mixes for someone, and I don't know why he doesn't choose me. It aches. Not sharply as I imagined it might. Not enough to make me cry everyday or distracted from the pain; just a dull melancholy, a sweet creative tragedy lurking in the bottom of my heart. Good things can come of unrequited love. Poetry, short prose, good music; great mixes that become snapshots of the time. CDs to tuck into my car radio on a long trip, slipping into the past like an old dress as the miles slide by and old, sad thoughts make me feel those times afresh. They mingle with deepened insight. I am not afraid. Someone will love me again, and I will choose him someday. Someone will love you, and she will be wonderful and lucky to have you. You will find what you are looking for as well. I have enjoyed watching your search from the sidelines. I do not fear for it either, as long as you stay honest. We both want so badly for the world, or at least our lives and loves to become what we think they should be. You have helped remind me that there is much beauty also in how they already are. This is a better gift even than all those mix CDs. And that means much, because they are excellent.