You’re just a kid. You don’t have any Idea what you’re talking about.
If I asked you about art, you’d give me the skinny on every art book. Michelangelo. You know a lot about him: Life’s work, political aspirations, him and the Pope, sexual orientation, the whole works, right? But you can’t tell me what it smells like in the Sistine Chapel. You never actually stood there and looked up at that beautiful ceiling. Seen that.
If I asked you about women, you’ll give me a syllabus of your favorites. You may have even been laid a few times… but you can’t tell what it feels like wake up next to a woman and feel truly happy.
You’re a tough kid. I f I asked about war, you’ll probably through Shakespeare at me, right? “Once more unto the breach dear friends…” But you’ve never been near one. You’ve never held your best friend’s head in your lap and watched him gasp his last breath, looking to you for help.
I ask you about love, you’ll probably quote me a sonnet, but you’ve never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable. Known someone who could level you with her eyes feeling like God put an angel on earth just for you, who could rescue you from the depths of hell and you wouldn’t know what’s like to be her angel, to have that love for her, be there forever, through anything, through cancer.
You wouldn’t know about sleeping sitting up in a hospital room for two months holding her hand because the doctors could see in your eyes the terms “visiting hours” don’t apply to you. You don’t know about real loss, because it only occurs when you love something more than you love yourself.
I doubt you ever dares to love anybody that much.
I look at you, I don’t see an intelligent, confident man. I see a cocky, scared shitless kid. But you’re a genius, Will. No one denies that.