book review of the four loves by cs lewis

you’re walking aimlessly down a trail of canopies, light beaming in from between the trees. it’s beautiful how the light dances between the movement of their branches. i wish you could have noticed it. you would have compared it to the refractions of light sparkling on the surface of ocean waves. but you didn’t. you're not in the headspace to enjoy the moment, you have too much to think about, and well, your sweater was comfortable when the fingers of redwoods intertwined, but the shyer crowns along the path have let in an oppressive heat from the sun. you sweat harder and harder, but you’re afraid to take off the coat. you think the insects here would bite you. you’ve been bitten before. you wrote it on your map. and besides, you appreciate this sweater. it looks good on you, it really does. any sweater would look good on you, but you've chosen this one.

you lose your place and pull out your map. you follow what you think is the trail. i did a piss poor job writing the thing. you’re slightly frustrated that you didn’t mention the heat, because where you came from was cold, and you dressed for then and not for now. you would have brought a tank top if you knew, maybe some sunscreen, but all you wrote on the map was “cold!” and onwards? not much. but at least the way has been somewhat accurate.

a river disrupts the path, and before you, a bridge nestles just above the water’s surface. the bridge wasn't here last time. wait, was it? maybe it was… i don't remember. you vaguely remember the river but it's foreign in a new context. or maybe i'm lost? a shadow of doubt casts overhead as you glance over the bridge. it looks sturdy enough. you test a step with a foot first, a fraction of your weight. no noise. a bit more? still solid. you lean all of your weight forward, your body's mass, your weighty backpack, your favorite sweater; all the weight of your person on one foot, and still the bridge stands. not a creek. a sigh of relief… and a step forward. and another and another and you’re halfway through! the bridge is more intimidating than it looks until a crack and a shake and a sharp pain and you're waist deep in cold water. my fucking ankle… great, just great. you wade through the glistening water, the water with a surface like the canopy of trees, and you move on.

you keep trekking. you didn’t care much about your trousers, they’re handmedowns anyways (a moment of regret passes your mind, a thought of its gifter, and i perish the thought for you. not now. still fresh, too raw) and you notice your favorite sweater is stained from the water. you want to take it off and clean it however you can, but the sun has set now and the territory has gotten cold. too cold. the temperature will freeze me solid; it won't, but your map warns of hypothermia after dark and anxiety swells within you. knots tighten around your chest, your stomach drops, and your thoughts… well, frankly, your thoughts are unkind and unhelpful and i don’t want to think about them with you right now. but you're obsessed with them.

you walk with your head down, deep in thought, looking at your useless map. nothing written on this flimsy piece of parchment could have prepared you for anything. this whole trip just… didn’t go how you expected. i was so excited for this… yeah, for years too. the last trip, you went alone. you had a map then too, but you felt like it wasn't really yours, and you were confident this time because this one is! it's your map. you made it. and you're all the more disappointed that it was useless. your thoughts wandered. why did you even want to go on this trip? you can’t find the source of your desire. it feels like it’s always been there, an endless hole in your chest, a wanting for something more. something like shame or loneliness or unbelonging. something hard to place. i feel it too, that same emptiness. it’s like a void or a black hole. you were really hoping this trip would fill it (you've done it before, with something else, the same misplaced belief) and i knew that filling it would only make it bigger, but i can’t do it for you. i can’t make you understand. all i can do is watch.

you take a break on a fallen log and set your backpack on a clearing besides you and something rustles beneath it. something important. no, it's not just leaves, you should really take a closer look. but you don't.

how many times will you make the same mistake before you learn your lesson?

ah, you're spiraling again.

this is so stupid, everything about this is stupid, you had no reason to be here.

i had every reason to be here, you're spiraling.

you're stupid, you're so stupid, thinking anything about this would have been rewarding.

i'm not stupid, i'm trying my best.

you could have tried anything else! you owe everything to the people who got you here and what have you paid forward?

i'm owed too.

you're not owed anything, you need to work for what you deserve.

and other's don't?

no, not really! everybody just takes, they take and take until nothing's left and lament when there's no cookies in the cookie jar.

i just wanted a cookie.

you don't deserve a cookie. what have you done to earn a cookie? abandon your responsibilities to go on a stupid fucking hike? to forget shit you don't want to think about anymore?

i just wanted to see the trees again.

why am i like this… it cost everything to be here and i didn't even enjoy it…

i just wanted to be happy.

you cried ugly tears. you secretly hoped nobody was near you, and there's not, but you almost suppressed how ugly your tears were. but you let it all out. for a moment, you were in my shoes, watching yourself from the third person. you suddenly became aware of the sound of the trees waltzing in air, the sharp edge of the biting cold rushing through your nostrils, and though blurry through tears, you finally saw the glistening canopies as i always wanted. it clicked in a moment of stabbing clarity; go check the leaves under your bag, there's something there.

another map. not your own. you want to crumple it up and toss it out but you're curious and let it unfurl on your lap. a wayward tear drips onto the surface and you wipe your eyes; a continuity of clarity distracts you from your worries. you skim the title, something about loves, and quickly realize the path isn't the same at all; not a river anywhere on here. you're disappointed that you got your hopes up for nothing, but it's okay, just keep reading. you have nothing better to do anyways.

and so you read, about bugs and sweaters and bridges and rivers and hot and cold and some were helpful and some were not and sometimes you felt the author was alien and sometimes you felt the author was you. so you took your map side by side and copied the parts that were relevant and left out the parts that weren’t. it was fun! somehow, i’m really looking forward to next time.