Friday Week 7 of Easter

Just what I don’t want to hear after breakfast on the beach—the taste of fish still strong in my mouth—salt and smoke in my hair. Here we go! “Do you love me?” “Yeah, of course I love you!”
“No, I mean it … do you love me?” “Yes! I love you.”
There’s something about those words I resent saying. Shouldn’t they be freely given and not dragged out of me like this? I’m embarrassed. How can my answer mean anything if it has to be asked for? Don’t I have to say, Yes? Why couldn’t you let me volunteer my love—let me offer it in open hands and not have it plucked out like this?
“Don’t philosophise—I can see you! Just tell me—I need to know—do you love me more than anyone?”
‘Don’t you know already? – do you have to ask me?”
“Come on, it’s important: do . you . love . me?”
Well do I? Look at how your insecurity’s rubbing off! Do I love you? Do I really love you? I don’t know now. I thought so, think so … feel so. But you’ve confused me. I know I don’t love you the way you love me. I know I don’t love you the way I want to. Or maybe I do love you that much but I don’t always manage to show it—the way I want. I know I want to. I do want to. Love you.
“Why are you asking this now?”
“Now? Because I need to know. Because it matters to me more than anything. Because I’m going away. Because I won’t be back. Because I need you to stay. Because I need to you to love for me. Because I need you to feed them fish in the morning and broken bread. … Will you?” “Do you love me?”