“She’s got to be able to sense my feelings,” I told the soldier. “It’s not like I hide them. I don’t bother to even try.”
“She can’t sense your feelings,” he said, surprising me.
“You don’t think so? How could she not?”
“I don’t think she senses people’s feelings, she reads them.”
“Tell me the difference,” I said.
“To sense something, you feel it.”
“Oh, yes I see,” I said as the light came on.
“Yeah, you can’t sense someone’s feelings unless you have empathy. She’s got no empathy.”
There was bad news today. With the soldier in the truck it fell to me to communicate our (collective) sympathies via email. Recalling that, I said nothing.
pictured – The Potato Eaters, Vincent van Gogh, 1885. Oil on canvas