There is an image I remember; a quiet night, a gentle breeze, a crescent moon where we hang our memories. I see a silhouette beneath the soft glow of the moon, indecisive about the fork stretched out before him. Beside him is where you stood, holding his hand and whispering confidently. I can’t recall the words, but I remember the tear that started trailing down his cheek. It never made it past his chin because you brought your free hand up and gently brushed it away, all the while smiling confidently with that gorgeous smile of yours. I remember how you looked at him. I remember the glimpse of faith, hope, and Love that dwelled just beneath the surface of your glistening eyes. And in them, he stared at his reflection and remembered that a part of him would always be a part of you. Together, side by side; hand in hand, they walked down the path they both agreed upon, even though it was the more difficult of the two because it was, by far, the most rewarding.
This image is not so much a memory of the past, but rather a projection of ourselves that I wish could have been accurate, either in our past, present, or future… Love, so pure and innocent and gentle in its most elegant form – so perfectly beautiful yet perfectly out of reach, at least the image with you in it. I know longer write with the hope that you’ll see these letters and, by some miracle, decide to return to my side, but rather to capture that beautiful, perfect Love I know we could have had, and so that I may once again hope that out there, somewhere in this vast and diverse world, that that Love is waiting for me with outstretched arms and a smile as radiant as I remember yours to be.