the only way i know how (an apology)

i don't know why i don't know how to love you as i could. I cast my suspicions in the camp of immediacy. Blame it on my reactivity. Suspect that i may be as selfish as you suggest. Prehaps the block is semantic. In the absence of suitable definitions i find myself with nothing to say. This is not to infer that there is no acheing, no longing for things to be another way. For phonecalls to be simple things, full of joy. Prehaps my guilt is muddied by fear, my frustration underwritten by sorrow. And i am a coward who cannot return your calls.