books and life

one of the things B and I did often (when we were together) was read books. we'd read the same book, x number of pages or chapters a night and discuss them when we talked. 

she agreed, somewhat reluctantly, to do that again. while we haven't talked much about what we're reading, it's still something, a connection to her, doing the same thing as her at more or less the same time. it's -something- that connects me to her.

there was a conversation in the book recently that caught my attention, that makes me wonder: is it possible for life to mirror fiction? i generally believe that -anything- is possible (as evidenced by where B and I are now). she does too and yet can say she and I together will not happen. I have to believe otherwise.

an interesting narrative thought from the book:

A cynic once said that the most identifying trait of humanity is our ability to be inhumane to one another.

...

Yet I can't entirely dismiss that cynic's sour assessment. I harbor a capacity for inhumanity, glimpsed in my [unbelieveable actions] to the person I love most in the world.

and now a paraphrased recount of a conversation in the book, as I wish B and I were having:

We sailed the blacktop rivers for a while, not finding [the bad guy], but slowly finding our way back to each other.

In time she said, "I love you".

My voice was thick when I replied. "I love you more than life."

"We'll be okay," she said.

"We -are- okay."

this is my dream.