Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • How can I tell you that I love you, I love you
    But I can't think of right words to say
    I long to tell you that I'm always thinking of you
    I'm always thinking of you, but my words
    Just blow away, just blow away
    It always ends up to one thing, honey
    And I can't think of right words to say

    Wherever I am girl, I'm always walking with you
    I'm always walking with you, but I look and you're not there
    Whoever I'm with, I'm always, always talking to you
    I'm always talking to you, and I'm sad that
    You can't hear, sad that you can't hear
    It always ends up to one thing, honey,
    When I look and you're not there

    I need to know you, need to feel my arms around you
    Feel my arms around you, like a sea around a shore
    And -- each night and day I pray, in hope
    That I might find you, in hope that I might
    Find you, because heart's can do no more
    It always ends up to one thing honey, still I kneel upon the floor

    How can I tell you that I love you, I love you
    But I can't think of right words to say
    I long to tell you that I'm always thinking of you
    I'm always thinking of you....
    It always ends up to one thing honey
    And I can't think of right words to say

    I found this photo of this little girl in my “old photo” tin, buried in a drawer of old things. It brought back a memory of a time, and a girl, that I’d long since forgotten about.

    I came out of the “Depression Clinic” at the V.A. Hospital in April, 1978, ready to rejoin life. I’d been diagnosed as manic-depressive and put on lithium. I was just happy to be alive, happy to want to be alive. It was a new day. I got a good job at a printing company as a forklift operator, I enrolled in classes at Rutgers University on the G.I.Bill, and everything was looking up. This would begin a 2 year period of “stability” in which I would work hard and get my own place, and establish a foothold in the civilian world after my turbulent Naval career.

    I had my friends in Connecticut who I’d go see once a month for a weekend. But, for the most part, it was a solitary existence. I was unto myself. But I was totally o.k. with it. After the off-the-rails-roller-coaster-ride I’d been on for years, the hard, hard partying days of my last two years in the Navy, the 60-day AWOL experience, traveling back and forth across the country on the lam, the jail experience, the “crash” of reality after I got my good discharge but ran smack into my addiction-run-wild before I could realize my dreams of grandeur and freedom, followed by the months’-long hell of suicidal depression….a solitary, stable, productive existence was a welcome thing for me.

    But it did have its price. I had become the Tin Man. I’d lost my heart. It wasn’t completely lost. I knew it was in there. I could feel it. It was just buried beneath a lot of stuff that I wasn’t about to stir up. I liked the stability of my new life. I didn’t want to mess with all of that stuff just yet. Then I met Janet.

    (Photo of Janet’s little girl)
  • She was friends with my co-worker Dave, who I had shared an apartment with for a few months. Dave was just too freakin’ dumb for me to tolerate beyond those few months. He grew pot plants in the window of his bedroom, the same window that looked out on the main road, where cops regularly patrolled back and forth. Really? I had no idea, until our apartment got raided. Fortunately, they didn’t go through all my stuff, or they might have found my “fingers” of opium that I had rolled up in a few socks in my sock drawer. But, that was all the close calls I needed. I moved out into my own place.

    Janet had pretty much had her fill with Dave, as well, but she and I had become fast friends. I just really liked being around her. She was funny as hell, smart as a whip, and totally down to earth. My kind of girl. I’d watched her fall head over heals for “Doc”, a married guy who was a total Con Artist, and who knocked her up then high-tailed it out of town. I stuck around and helped her through her pregnancy, and was there through all the trials and tribulations that being a good catholic girl pregnant out of wedlock carried with it.

    Somewhere in the process, I fell deeply in love with her. I didn’t notice it happening. One day, I just knew that I loved this girl with all my heart, and I felt that we were soulmates. But, I just couldn’t tell her. I couldn’t figure it out. It was like there was a complete disconnect between my heart and my head, and before I could tell her how I felt, my head would convince me to wait. And I waited. And waited. I bided my time. For what, I knew not. It was such a bittersweet time for me.

    One day, we decided to just take a road trip, from Philadelphia to Montreal, via Connecticut. I thought that this would be the time to let her know how I felt. We had a great trip. She met all my friends in Connecticut. They all liked her, and she hit it off with them, as I knew she would. Montreal got an unexpected foot of snow on Canadian Thanksgiving Day, first week of October, which we woke up to there. It was magical. Everything was set up for it. This was the time to do it. But I just couldn’t tell her how I felt. It never happened.

    We eventually drifted apart, as our lives took us each in different directions.
    • Share

    Connected stories:

About

Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.