The receptionist at my new doctor's office was a young chinese girl with a big smile, soft voice, and innocent face. As she took my patient information, she chatted about herself and the world. She had the presence of an infant, as if she were grabbing her toes and softly cooing, pleased with everything, laughing at a delightfully absurd world. I could not imagine that my bodily woes and worries would make any sense to her.
As we chatted, I felt my face lighting up with the reflection of hers, and vague memories arose of a world I once knew, wide-eyed in a benign universe. I felt in love over her smile and a few meaningless words, and suddenly I wanted her, wanted to possess her laughter and light, wanted to pull her body into mine so that I could merge with her naked joy of life.
And the thought occurred, was I simply wanting to strip her of her innocence so that through her I could re-experience the pain of my own loss?
I know all too well that that there is something in me that keeps me from reentering that world - the fear of being fooled again, of being too naive, of risking vulnerability, of pain. And so I peer longingly over the wall I have built that guards me from what I long for, convinced that I need to be serious and grown up and realistic.
Yet her smile lingers in me, and I am unable to give up the desire for what I have left behind.
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