I spend so much time thinking love is being a kamikaze pilot--if I am so willing to destroy myself for you, surely you see the depth of my feeling.

But you’re right, I bet. Right to avoid the people so willing to burn themselves alive in enclosed spaces in your name. Who’s to say that I wouldn’t nosedive with you on board? Just because I have no concept of self-preservation doesn’t mean you don’t either.

And a friend said, in the dark, with flickering fire shadows all over her face, that I know what I want in love and I believed her--believe her--but I don’t know what that means about wanting you.

You are nothing like what I want in love--careless where I’m careful, free where I’d like to be still, sensitive about things I’ll needle, not a cuddler, stamping on all the fires I want to ignite in you and me.

And if I know what I want, why do I keep crashing against you hoping the result will change? I keep thinking crash enough times, one time you’ll break, but I’m your eternal kamikaze pilot.

And I know all about the supposed virtues of persistence, but if you don’t love me and you never will, watching me die for you over and over again has got to be terrible to watch. I can’t promise I’ll stop doing it, but I can promise to keep all deaths out of eyesight and keep my mouth shut. Even when I’m drinking. Even with my heart on my sleeve. Even when I’m asleep and should be allowed to dream about crashing into you.

I love you, but I need to learn that it doesn’t have to be a death sentence.