I have a still confidence in my heart about you. You’re someone. A one. A person I was always supposed to meet. I adore you for what I know of you—your kindness, your intelligence, your intuition, your charm, your sensitivity, your occasional scatteredness, your talent, your humility (these words are never enough)—and continue to be curious about what lives outside of that. There probably isn’t a good, objective measure of what it means to be a deeply conscious person. Different strokes and all of that. But that is what you are to me. I had no idea I was even looking for you until I met you.
There are no closed systems. Once-in-a-lifetime necessitates no amount of “getting it right.” Our friendship, our bond, our … soul-ship is a beautiful, unfolding dynamic that fills my insidey parts with joy. It could leave me breathless if I wasn’t already just so content to be around you. We can do anything you want even if anything is nothing at all. You can’t “mess” us up. I suppose that there are some outcomes, small or large, that could hurt if … if. But, it’s okay. This is important to me but it’s still secondary to what’s real out there. Do what’s in your heart—you won’t get me wrong.
Perhaps one day the level of counter-intuition in our relationship will diminish until we can stop relying on these exchanges and our wonderful hugs to communicate what is in the heart. Not that I want any of it to stop or that I don’t enjoy hugging my pillow, pretending that it is you, to sleep every night as I imagine what that would look like. Just that I wouldn’t be doing that if I didn’t deeply desire the closeness for which it is a substitute. Perhaps. And perhaps when that day comes I won’t be so passively aggressive about communicating my wants.
Let’s give that a shot—
You already have me but I want you to know. I want you to know what it’s like to be touched by me; to hear an intimate sincerity (or ten) pass through what was once an artificial divide. I want you to see as much of me as you want to, to understand how much knowing you has changed me. Ugh. I want a lot of things and I know that they all start at home. One thing at a time, I suppose … I just hope not never (but it’s okay). The deep, inward pull of relief from the past year’s fruition is hard to leave and yet I still want.
But I hope that you can feel me holding onto you as you fall asleep tonight. You can drift and I will mouth the words on soft, flannel sheets … “I’m home.”
I love you.