And I look right into his eyes, right into him as far as I can see, because I want him to hear me, I want him to hear me with everything I mean and feel and say.

"Always," I say to him. "Every time."

"Viola?" he says.
And I turn to look at him -
And when I do, I can hear everything he's thinking.
Everything.
Clearer than before, clearer than seems possible -
And I'm not even sure I'm supposed to, but I look him in the eyes and I see it -
In the middle of everything he's feeling -
Even after we fought -
Even after I doubted him -
Even after I <i>hurt</i> him -
I see how much he loves me.

I pressed my lips against his ear and whispered again, It's not your fault. Perhaps this was really the only thing I had ever wanted to say to anyone, and be told.

Tell him everything; it is best. He will forgive you.

I wanted to touch him, to tell him that even if everyone left everyone, I would never leave him, he talked and talked, his words fell through him, trying to find the floor to his sadness.

"And you," he says, "you need to talk to your boy." He lifts my chin. "And if he needs saving, then you save him. Isn't that what you told me you did for each other?"
I let go a few more tears but then I nod. "Over and over again."

"I love you" I say.
"I love you, too" he says. "I'll see you soon."

"You love me. Real or not real?"
I tell him, "Real."

Then I wanted to beg him to forgive me. But this would have been too great a confession; any yielding at that moment would have locked me forever in that room with him. And in a way this was exactly what I wanted.

Your Homer is here with me; mute or rather in fact deaf am I, in front of him. But I am happy to gaze upon him and often hug him and, sighing, say, 'Great man, how I would love to hear you!

I moved his hair out of his face. I put my hand under his nose and felt gentle, even breaths. I pressed my lips against his ear and whispered again, It’s not your fault. Perhaps this was really the only thing I had ever wanted to say to anyone, and be told.

You know I love you right?”

“I know,” he breathed, his arm tightening automatically around my waist. “You know how much I wish it was enough.

Before we can forgive one another, we have to understand one another.