You think the trick is getting somebody to tell you they love you. Earning it, inspiring it - whatever. That's the prize in all the movies and books - the moment when the words pass from her lips and her soul through your ears and to your soul. That's the end of the story, whether they all live happily ever after or better to have loved and lost - whatever the future, the story ends with "I love you."
The words have to come. The eyes aren't enough, the bed isn't enough. It has to be spoken. But it has to be believed. Words and eyes and the bedroom are easy. Love is not. It's rare. You have to believe they love you. So what if they do love you, but you can't believe it? Or what if you believe it, but it isn't true? How could you know?
That was what I thought, staring into a bowl of chicken soup, following the path of a bit of carrot as it circumnavigated it's little world. Do I believe it? Can I believe it?