If the truth is blurry in your mind, how can you explain it to others?

The question was innocent enough, but it startled me.

“Who are you in love with?” June asked.

I was sitting in a restaurant late Saturday night. Outside, there was heavy rain — along with thunder and lightning — so the place was almost empty. June had sat at a booth next to me to call her husband and children on her break. As she got off the phone and relaxed, she looked over at me and asked her unexpected question.

“What do you mean?” I asked. I can usually talk my way around anything that I don’t want to answer, but this was so unexpected that I didn’t know where to start. I barely know June. She knows almost nothing about me and absolutely nothing about my past. Why had she asked this pointed question?

“You’re unhappy,” she said. “It’s because you love someone or you can’t have someone or something like that. You act all happy and friendly, but sometimes I watch you when you’re quiet and you look like a hurt puppy. And I think you love someone. Did she break your heart?”

I was startled at the questions she was asking, partly because they were personal and partly because I didn’t know what I wanted to tell her.

“That’s a complicated question with a complicated answer,” I said evasively.

I never know whether I want to talk about Her or not. Well, I mean, I do want to talk about Her. But I don’t. It doesn’t make sense. It makes my heart do flip-flops to talk about it. How in the world can I explain the truth to a stranger?

I first gave June a very brief answer. I told her the woman’s name. I asked her why she had been so sure there was someone. I told her just a few sentences about Her, but I found it difficult to tell the truth — because I’m not entirely sure what the truth is.

How do you explain something that’s blurry and confusing? It feels like trying to explain colors and sunsets and green leaves in summer to someone who’s blind. So I kept my explanation simple. I told her the brief outlines of the past, but no more.

“Do you still love her?” June asked.

My heart didn’t want to answer the question. I was evasive and talked around it for a minute without committing myself to anything.

“But do you love her?” she repeated.

I gave her a shorter answer, but she already knew the truth before she asked me.

“And does she love you?” June asked.

I told her something a psychologist told me about 10 years ago on this subject. The question back then wasn’t about Her, but it still applies. The therapist told me to ignore what people say about their feelings or what they want, because their words mean little. She said you have to judge a person’s intent and real feelings by what the person does.

“Yeah, I get that,” June said. “But does she love you?”

She wasn’t letting me off the hook that easily. She wanted to know what I think. And so I told her.

Before long, it was time for June to get back to work. She was the shift manager and didn’t need to set a bad example by sitting around talking too long. She picked up her drink and stood up.

“My husband and I have been together for eight years now,” she said. “It’s the second marriage for both of us, but the crazy thing is we dated when we were in high school — and then went on to marry other people.”

She paused and looked outside at the heavy rain.

“I realized after I got divorced that I had never quit loving him from high school,” she said. “He was still married, so I was by myself — with a baby — for a couple of years, knowing I loved him. There wasn’t anything I could do about it. And I thought I’d be alone for the rest of my life wishing I was with him. And then a miracle happened and here with are with two more kids together and a fourth on the way.”

It was a nice story and I told her I was happy that it had worked out well for them.

“You need a miracle,” she said. “You either need her to decide she wants a future with you or else you need to fall in love with someone else. And I can tell it would take a lot for you to fall for another girl. You should be able to have anyone you want, though. Any girl would be lucky to have you. But you need a miracle.”

And then she went back to work.

I was left alone to watch the storm outside and to ponder my old fears about my lack of control over life.