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Write to Save Your Life

Painter at Easel (1631), Gerrit Dou

Wednesday, September 18, 2002

Yesterday was one of the longest days I've lived yet. A quick thought that stands out from the blur of confusion and angst: I'm washing my hands, running them under the warm water and thinking how good it feels when the thought occurs to me: "That's it. This happened because he was put off by my cold hands."

But he wasn't put off by my cold hands, and later that night they were clasped in his, his nose pressed against the back of my neck, words falling into the chasms of my ears. Trust is a funny issue; it's not something that comes to you by Providence but seems to be more of a decided attitude. And I guess last night, I simply decided to trust him.

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