10/02/05

“Ephraim, I love you.” Why do I dread these words? Why do I try to change the subject or explain them away? Why do I fear them? After dating for three months I have been carefully dodging them, but they came out last night. The first time I was able to simply dismiss them as a by-product of the heat of the moment. Sometimes we say stupid things while kissing. One time I said “Yowsa,” in the voice of Axel Rose. At least that was quizzical, comical, and could even pass as cute. But as even with its elusive ambiguity, “love” is serious stuff. Call my mom a whore, and I’ll laugh. Call me a homo, and I’ll joke about it for weeks. At my old job they used to make fun of me for not being sexually active. They said that since I’d never used my penis, it was still in the box with the shrink-wrap on it. I though it was hilarious. As men, the more you cut someone down, the more you can build up a friendship. Of course, there are tonal changes that indicate a shift from affection to offense, but generally to offend is to befriend. The only taboo is direct, somber compliments. Love, as a solemn declaration, is unsettling. I don’t know what “love” is. If God is a mystery, (D&C 19:10) and God is love, (1 John 4:16) then it follows that love is a mystery (“behold, the mystery of godliness, how great is it!”). I have wrestled with this for years, yet I have only learned a few things. Trust is more important than love. You can love someone and not trust them, but it’s hard to trust someone and not love them. Other than that, I really can’t say more.