I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive the 15 years of time that existed between knowing you and loving you; but maybe it’s hollow lamenting not-knowings, past lives you were only a part of in obscure ways, or distances we utilized as justifications to exist separately in the universe. It feels wrong indulging such a twinge in my heart over something that finally submerged me in much needed hope, happiness, love, and fruition, because I’m anything but ungrateful. I am anything but ungracious in the life that I share with you. I’m only somber over a decade and a half of memories that you aren’t a part of, even though you were always there. There’s something so much more anguishing in knowing that you were always there, isn’t there? In knowing that it wasn’t a matter of finding you, of meeting you, only in opening our chests wide enough to reach inside and find your heart beating in mine, and mine in yours. Because for fifteen years I learned to live with a sense of vacancy and longing. I think you did too.
Time is brutal and unkind, but it’s not always heartless. Comparatively, next to fifteen, two years feels so small, but if I had to do it again, I’d leave my entire life behind for 2 days with you if it was all time could offer. I’m not sure how much we have left with each other, but I promise to be grateful for every second and never ever assume I’ll always have you.
Let’s leave society behind, disappear into every alcove of this spinning rock, and push our chests together until our hearts are marching forward in unison with time, immersed in nothing but gratitude and equanimity.
Happy Birthday. Happy Anniversary. I love you. And I’ve missed you for so very long.
