Talking to you is hard. It's hard and it's wonderful. It's wonderful and it's terrible.
Honestly, I've had a better day today, though, for knowing that you're missing me. It's sick. A lot of people, mostly people who don't know you and who don't know me, are telling me I'm a fool for even entertaining the possibility of having a future with you. They're all absolutely right. I'm a fool. I've always been a fool for you, and I don't see it ending any time soon.
I like the idea of living apart and seeing each other sometimes, of taking some space to heal separately but with an understood intention of coming back together. I feel like I can catch my breath. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing, but it's a true thing.
I meditated with my new guru today, and somewhere along the way, I recognized that I was sitting quietly without thinking of you. It felt like a victory to be able to sit quietly and not think of you, but letting my mind go to celebrate that victory turned it back on, and sent it spiraling after you. Before I was able to get back to myself, I found my hands wandering through your hair, holding still at the place where your hair meets your neck. I found my eyes picking through its color, the dark singed with gold; my mouth pressing close, breathing deep. My mind finds its way to you always, but I'm working on it.
I love you. No more, no less. I love you like I've always loved you. I feel differently about you, but the love is just the same as it ever was. It's never grown. It's never shrunk. It sinks me in myself like an anchor. I guess that's marriage, really: a love that never changes.
It bears out to the edge of doom. We stand together on the edge. I know you'll leap, and I won't let go of your hand.