Romance and love and all that other jazz...

Went to see "No Country for Old Men" tonight. But I'm just not in the mood to try to dissect it now.

So I'll save that for another time and tell you another story -- a personal one. It happened on a night very much like this one. Mid-70s, raining, damp and gray.

I wanted to thank her. From the bottom of my heart, as sincere as anything I'd ever felt, I wanted to say thanks.

She had no idea, no way to know it, but she'd given me a precious gift. For a few fleeting moments she'd taken my pain away.

She meant a lot to me, although not in a romantic way. No, it was less than that, and in a way, it was much more.

It had been a week to forget. Those I trusted turned away, suspicious, not caring it seemed about what I was feeling, nor about the greater pain they'd planted in my heart. Phone calls to loved ones went unreturned. Nothing seemed real, nothing seemed right. Out of sync. Out of place.

I was hurting and the world didn't care.

But she would. I just knew she would. I'd feel better, forget all about this week from hell, all about the pain that refused to take its leave.

And I did. For a few hours I felt like a human being again, remembered what it was like to really live. The mind cleared, the heart soared and this whole damn roller coaster ride finally made sense.

So I had to say thanks. It meant so much, her giving of herself this way, a little kindness that I would remember forever.

But the time came and the words wouldn't come, lost somewhere in the haze, drowned by the one thing that could make the pain stop. I tried, opened my heart, but nothing happened.

At least, not what I intended.

Looking back on it, I guess I can understand. What was meant to be a simple word of gratitude instead looked like something quite different.

And, it's funny, but all these many moons later, all I can remember now is how much she helped me. I think about the way I felt, the sheer, beautiful, sincere, complete and utter joy, and realize that, in the end, is what matters.

But sometimes, on nights when heaven cries its teardrops, I shake my head and try to understand how two words that meant more to you than anything else at that moment in time proved to be so difficult to say.

Sometimes the worst kind of heartache has absolutely nothing to do with romance and love, and all that other jazz.