We are only too happy to let people in when it is we who are helping them, we pour the wine and they pour the hearts. We do our homework in class, resolving and washing our hands, like Pilate, when the issues walk out the door. But the rarity is when we are the ones let in.

Last night we spend hours on a friendship. It is hard to admit the need to spend hours on oneself, but when there are two, it is a good investment (and I would argue a good investment to spend on oneself as well).

We meander around our favorite store, spoil ourselves with a floral blouse, a flattering sweater. We drive through eat so we can sit in the car and talk. We wile away the hours with conversations punctuated by questions and answers and confessions. And we sit, side by side, in a movie theater for the late show and find ourselves crying at the same part.

I love you, I say to her, and I am so grateful for you. She asks why and though it is plain to me, I tell her anyway.

For letting me in.

But also.

For coming in.

Because it is easy to find the walking wounded, they are everywhere, ask anyone; but it is hard to find the ones who will heal uncovered, unbandaged. We are far too able to cover our seeping wounds, using hands and suits and religion and knowledge to do our healing in private. It's better that way, we think. Less mess for everyone else. Too much tragedy in the world already, why add to the body-count?

But, I say to her last night, thank you for showing me the mess and for allowing me to rejoice with you who rejoice and mourn with you who mourn. It has changed my life.

Also, I say, I will miss you. Please come back soon.

day two of 30 day challenge put down by one Jason Allen Churchill Thorburne Morris.