My friend called me last night from LA. He visits once a year and usually stays with a friend in a sprawling Spanish style in the hills. His friend is a lonely man, independently wealthy, late 40's, never married, no children and loves to chat up his house guests. So before my friend even put down his bags the stories began. But this time the tale was so sad my friend had no choice but to really listen.
"I dated this woman once a very long time ago. We had such a deep connection I always envisioned us coming back together at some point. I thought about her all the time. Whenever I met someone I would always compare. Every five years or so I would reach out to her. We would meet and pick up right where we left off. It's been a while since I spoke to her so I recently tried to find her. I tried facebook, linkedin, yellow pages, everything I could think off. Finally I read in trade pages that she had died...five years ago. She's gone and I never got to tell her how I really felt about her. I never told her she was the one."
His story reminded me of a passage from the Paolo Coelho book I'm reading which says, "love doesn't ask many questions because if we stop to think we become fearful. It's an inexplicable fear; it's difficult even to describe it. Maybe it's the fear of being scorned, of not being accepted, or breaking the spell. It's ridiculous, but that's the way it is. That's why you don't ask-you act. You have to take risks to truly know love."
I have never feared love. I've only ever feared regret.
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