Excuse Me, Do I Know You?

I sent an e-mail to friend - my roommate from college actually - recently, trying to explain myself. Needless to say it was a lengthy missive; sprawling, rambling and disjointed (much like the author herself). At best a middling effort as Sysephian-task.

It did however engender a very sweet response, which I won't post here (as I don't have the permission of the author and it is so full of personalized references it wouldn't be of much interest to anyone outside of our circle of two anyway). This thoughtful reply was punctuated with a quote, as has been, over the last decade that I have known her, the way of the reply's author. She is always collecting quotes and including them in her communications on an "as necessary" basis. This situation was both no exception and apparently "as necessary."

The quote is, as follows:

"Your worth and mine lie within ourselves. It is infinite and it is reliable. It is the only thing in this world that is truly so...Wherever you are, whenever you need me, I will be there to remind you to look toward the light; not mine, but your own. You have more power, strength, character, integrity and beauty both inside and out than you realize."

Not too terrible. It is the kind of modern-day-self-actualizing-reworking of Eleanor Rooseveltian sensibilities-type of quote that was appropos to the situation and which the reply's author favors.

But what struck me more was the reality of the line of the reply which followed:

"You wrote that to me seven years ago on August 29, 1998."

And the more sage advice which followed that:

"READ IT OUT LOUD."

Did I ever really believe such things? I must have. I never would have written it otherwise. I certainly would not have included myself in the mix without some purpose. My worth is within? It is infinite? It is reliable? Well, it is definitely cheesy. The ramblings of mad-twenty year old, a fresh faced novice to the world.

But still, I am left wondering. Did I actually believe at one time that I actually had worth? And that it was the most valuable possession I had? Really?

It just seems so inconceivable. But there seems to be so much certainty, so much conviction in those words.

If it was true, could it be so again?

Could it ever be said out loud?