"Now I will tell you what I've done for you
50 thousand tears I've cried"
[Evanescence, "Going Under"]

Those with good memories have probably been waiting, expecting me to write in the last day or two, all about the results of Jenny's Birthday Gift. Perhaps some of you became as curious as I was. I spent the last two weeks becoming very un-curious, telling myself it would amount to nothing, and so nothing is all I should expect. "This is the way the world ends... This is the way the world ends... This is the way the world ends... not with a bang... but with a whimper..."

I awoke this morning from a peculiar dream, and I remembered much of it on waking. In it, I ended up in the middle of the Basilica of St John the Baptist (the Catholic Basilica in which I was an altar boy in my early teen years), dressed in white cloth, and looking very much like Jesus. (There was a part before this, but this is where it got interesting.) I flew into the room, and looked down to see the throngs slowly making their way out of the church at the end of the mass, ignorant, it seemed, of the rather large and obvious demon in their presence. I swooped down, burst into non-consuming flames, and approached the creature as the crowd watched in awe. Swing after swing the beast thrust its oversized two-handed sword toward my chest, and thrust after thrust I parried, catching the blade in my bare hands without cutting myself, all the while simply looking it in the eyes and insisting it surrender, repeating "I am the truth and the light".

I am the truth and the light.

Bizarre.

There was a friend, maybe several friends, in the middle of the church when I swept down. But I don't remember who they were. One in particular, was the one I was really there to save. It was not that I didn't feel a certain measure of compassion for the faceless masses, but there was one person in particular, someone I loved, whom I'd come to save. But when I awoke, I could not remember which of my friends were there, or who that person was.
Knowing myself, I have guesses, of course, but I don't feel like sharing.
Personal Jesus. I dreamt I was someone's Personal Jesus. What does that have to do with the letter, you're probably wondering. Much, actually, though I'm sure the timing of the dream was only a coincidence.

I was trying to be a sort of "Personal Jesus" to Jenny when I wrote it. And shortly after I did, in the month of February last year, I had a sort of emotional breakdown, the gravity of which most people around me did not at all grasp. Of everyone, two people were crucial in me keeping from coming apart at the seams, and Jenny was one of them. Considering she'd left me only the month previous, expecting her to be not just a friend, but my best friend, of whom I would demand more than I was accustomed to demanding from even my closest friends of a decade or more, I could hardly expect her to find the strength, desire, and compassion to be there for me when I needed her, but she was. And I don't think it was simply that sort of "gotta be there for a friend" kind of being-there, it was the kind that only comes from people whose depths of compassion the rest of us marvel at. She's got a good heart. And so, she was, for a short time, my Personal Jesus.

Today, she finally messaged me. I'd not asked about the birthday gift since messaging her to wish her a happy birthday 2 days ago. (She'd not read it yet at the time.) I neither felt it was appropriate to ask, nor could I bring myself to - pride, cowardice, having spent 2 weeks telling myself to expect nothing and finally ready to accept just that - take your pick, I'm sure the truth lurks somewhere in the middle of that triangle. In any case, I'd not asked, and today she finally messaged me, surprised that I hadn't.

We chatted briefly, and during the conversation, revealed that she's going through a bit of difficult time these past few days herself (the nature of which it's not my business to tell).

I can't help but want to be her Personal Jesus, but I question my own motives. I know my desire springs forth from a genuine desire to see her happy, and also to repay this debt of gratitude I feel over her helping me last year. But I know, too, that in drawing that "shrapnel" from the wound at long last, and taking down my Sword of Damocles, perhaps I'm also touching emotions I long ago felt, and which were wisely put to rest. To resurrect them would bring pain, but not joy, for they have nothing on which to perch or grip. And so, while my desire to help her is altruistic enough, I'll struggle to even offer, and in fact I doubt I will, for fear more childish and parasitic emotions might rise within me, ever opportunistic. And I don't want that.

I want only for her to be happy. And for me to be happy. And she made it clear long ago those things are to be separate and distinct, and that I must accept that. And I did. Now I have only to continue to.
It just shouldn't be an issue any more for me, and somehow today it is.
I don't have my answer yet, and so neither do you. She'd not read it yet, as she was having trouble finding it. But she is eager to read it. I imagine after 12 1/2 months, her curiousity must be peaked, regardless of how she looks on me or our past relationship. I'll send her an electronic copy tonight if she hasn't found the original. I hope I don't disappoint.

And I hope I don't offend. And I hope, in reading it, if she is offended somehow by my narcissistic efforts of last year to be her Personal Jesus a year down the road, that she'll delve once more into that heart of compassion she has, and find the strength to forgive me. After all, I was in love. And love is a powerful, powerful thing.

"Please forgive me
If I act a little strange
For I know not what I do.
Feels like lightning running through my veins
Everytime I look at you"
[David Gray, "Please Forgive Me"]