You Could

She told me she hated me a thousand times, and every time I looked to her eyes and smiled. I could always read them as plainly as every man wishes he could read a woman's eyes. Her lips smiled as she said it over and over, "I hate you. I hate you." But hearing the words from her heart that she always tried so hard to muffle, I could clearly make out what she was really telling me:

"I don't hate you yet, but I'm trying. I tried to stop loving you and I can't, so now I'll try to forget."

Every last second of that day is burned into me. The warmest greeting I've ever received, followed by the realization a split second later that I'd probably never see her again. The silence that I finally totally embraced, understanding that as perfect of a match as our hands were, our souls could never be together in the calm ways that our bodies could. When, after five years, she finally kissed me -- on the cheek -- and I drove home, sat down, and thought of nothing but that for as long as I possibly could because I knew that it was a goodbye kiss.

I remember the last time I called her, the stale quiet that totally encompassed us both as I was all too aware of her hopes that I would just hang up soon.

"I'll wait until I hear from you again," I told her. Despite a thousand temptations and a heartache that I could never describe in spite of any eloquence, I have kept true to my words.

When I'd hung up, she said to herself, to me, "You won't."

I hope that one day, when she finds what she was looking for, we can both break these promises together and start anew on the path toward the camaraderie we've been denying ourselves for so long. Sometimes I wonder how we'll ever find what it is we're looking for without each other in the first place.

There is so much guilt now, on both sides of the fence that we've built between us. Strangely, knowing that we've long ago forgiven each other only makes it all the more difficult to bear.

Her picture still rests on my shelf. Sometimes I get tired of walking by it and making sideways glances as I try not to think about her and go about my day. It's then that I stop and look directly to her, letting myself miss her, love her, and feel all the pain and pride that she brought into my life.

Our relationship will never be the way it was during that first year. If we were honest with ourselves, and with each other, I think we'd both agree that we wouldn't rewind and do it differently anyhow. But what we still have is the chance to be complete. The chance that I will be able to introduce myself to the person that she has become, the chance to be a source of happiness for her, is something that I will hope for no matter how foolish I am for doing so.

I've always given her as much love as I knew how, as unconditionally as a person possibly could. Despite my best attempts, it has neither diminished nor weakened, only matured into something that I know will be a part of me the rest of my days.

There was a time when I had to ask myself what I wanted from her, and I was never satisfied with my answers. Now, maybe, I can answer myself honestly: A smile, a laugh, and the words from her heart to whisper that she doesn't mind me being a part of her anymore.

I'm not one to put much stock in hope, but I know that if she feels one half of the warmth that I do, we are both great fools to make those last promises to each other the only ones we kept.

I don't hate you yet, and I won't ever. I tried to stop loving you and I can't, so now I'll embrace you, completely.