Love, love.. I worried so for you as your tears soaked me and the letter that you sent.
But all is not despair now, days later. You seem calmer, and my world has seemed to expand in ways I never could have dreamed possible.
I missed you, but I never cried. I somehow knew we would stay connected. And indeed, it seems we do. We always will, I think.
How does a person explain love if it is true? No convention can define the wonders in it, and yet we try. We try to make it all fit neatly into something that our friends and family understand, but this could never work with you.
I want to tell you to fuck me, but no. For now, just hold my hand. Listen. Speak to me. Somehow, now, we need a bit of quiet space, time to reflect.
Time to grow.