Forty-Something Years in Ninaland

Would He?


Photo by Artem Kovalev on Unsplash

We sat on the living room sofa

the cream colored leather wrinkled slightly as I moved my hands to reach for the red blanket.

I listened closely as my father told my sister on the telephone, a landline,

“We really did like your boyfriend. He seems good. He’s good.”

“But I have to ask you a question,” he continued.

“Would he die for you?” I stopped staring at CNN on the T.V.

Wolf Blitzer’sĀ hair, well he doesn’t have much hair, his head was taking over the screen.

I put my finger in my mouth. I don’t know what she said on the other end of the line.

But I thought to myself, “Would he die for you?” over and over again.

“Your mom asked me that the other day and I said yes, absolutely yes,” my father continued.

“Would he die for you?” I asked myself again and again.

If you don’t know, does that mean no?

If you just are starting to get to know someone, can they die for you?

How dramatic are we being? Or are we being true?

Ask yourself, “Would he die for you?”

You don’t want him to die, and this isn’t a Bollywood film.

This isn’t even Hollywood, this emphatically and truly no movie.

This is us, the way we are when we dream about love.

We dream that people must die, in order for love to truly exist.

I asked myself this, “Would he live for me?”


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