—Do you know how difficult it is: loving you?
She purses her lips and in a voice
—Do enlighten me, dear,
Because if it's anything like loving you
Then I just don't understand why we bother
He is startled by her words
And by how much depends on what he says
—Loving you—he says—is like…walking…to the North Pole, like building a…a cathedral! , like climbing Mount Kilimanjaro, like launching a space shuttle and hoping it doesn't explode, like surviving a desert a storm a fire a war a heart attack a
Like hitchhiking across Europe without a map, without a guide
without a clue.
He breathes heavily and she is quiet.
Then she says:
—None of those things are impossible.
—Yes—he says—but in order to do any of them it has to be what you want to be doing most. And I'm doing it. God I'm doing it and it's hard and it's worth it. But tell me dearest what's it like loving me?
She goes very quiet
And the faucet drips
And the flowers in the vase need to be replaced
And one of the bulbs above their heads goes out.
—It's like hitchhiking.