somebunny loves me

It's true. I am loved. I am loved by someone who thinks I am beautiful and smart and kind and all around amazing. And he tells me so. He valiantly jumps to my rescue and defends me to whomever he sees giving me a hard time, even when I'm not there. He loves me whether I am near or not, whether I'm happy and perky or not, no matter what. He serenades me with beautiful Spanish love songs. But before we call and order a ring from Tiffany and Co. know this: he is a patient, an essentially homeless, unemployed, completely irresponsible loafer. He's over fifty and has nothing to show for it. Almost. He embarrasses me with his attention, I feel like crawling under the desk at the nurses' station when he sings to me, and if I ever saw him outside the unit I'd hide. But the one thing he has to show for his age or life or whatever is that he knows how to love. I didn't realize it until tonight. There is this fabulous line in the film Adaptation...the weirdo twin brother says something to the effect of "it isn't about who loves you, it's about who you love." He was talking about this chick he was totally in love with in high school or something. He worshipped her and she made a joke out of him. Been there done that. The joke, I mean. He knew that she made fun of him, but he loved her still. He decided that he wasn't going to let her stop him from loving her. I think the idea is that you can't make anyone love you, you can't control how they feel, but if you can love someone, do it, regardless of whether or not it is reciprocated. And that is what this patient does. He knows he doesn't have a snowball's chance in hell, and he knows that my coworkers tease me about him. So in a way I guess he probably feels like a joke, too. But it doesn't stop him. And it makes him happy. It's sweet, really. And it reminds me of that line in Adaptation and how I should love unabashedly, too. Why should we only love when we get something in return? Is that even love? Compelling, no?