2/25/02 - 10:32 p.m.

My friend AntiProfound just left her husband.

Actually I've never met AntiProfound. But she's the only person who's ever linked to my diary. (And possibly its only reader.) This one goes out to you, AntiProfound. People really do read your diary.

And congratulations on your new freedom. You have to be true to yourself, first and foremost, and people who really care about you will understand that.

The entry was a little odd for me to read, since I'd just found myself on the opposite end -- being told by a woman that she "didn't want to hurt me, but..." I believe she really didn't want to hurt me -- that she stepped back and saw where we were, and the goodness inside her made her say something. I do believe that.

And I wanted it not to hurt her to have to tell me. Strangely. I find myself caring.

I used to say that I just wanted to spend time with Lady Friend, and if we were meant for each other, that would make itself known. Now it seems that's where we're at. She opens up and sends me long emails about her day. And I hang on every word. And give her lots of space. Because -- I guess it's because I care.

It feels good to take an interest in this way.

I was going to write more about that conversation -- about the moment when my voice caught and my eyes moistened, trying to describe how much I'd want to know that I could see her, even years down the road. To explain that, I had to describe what things would be changed by that extra hope. Me describing myself -- this explanation required it. But it made me start talking out loud about myself. And my eyes moistened and my voice caught....

AntiProfound said she felt horrible when her husband cried. Which helped me understand Lady Friend better. Lady Friend has been saying things like "It's good to see you happy" and, once, dropping a hint I need to get more involved in the community. I guess her motives are good.

She's still sending me long emails, and expressing at least a friendly interest in my well-being. And I'm still nursing whatever feeling it is that I have for her -- while also enjoying the novel sensation of actually caring about her feelings.

The rest is out of my hands.

But now I know there are good feelings out there in the world. Which is probably a good thing, just in itself.