You, out of nowhere email me, as if I am a dependable value of your existence.
You aren't incorrect in this assumption. For, as long as I am alive I will be entwined with you.
I finally took my own brave voyage and left my familiar scapes.
I spent some time away, and still, carried you with me.
A deep spur in my heart that hurts when I consider how you taught me the meaning of love in all of its complexities.
You've grown balding, and fat. I enjoy seeing these things. She wears you on her skin and grows softer around the middle, but brighter in her age.
Who would have actually believed 15 years could carry through in the blink of an eye, and I could still love you.
Now, I am not the desolate caged beast I was in my youth.
Now, I have the means to book a plane and fly to you, without a second thought.
But if I were to land, on that patchwork green and stand before you, you wouldn't be the same person I stumbled drunkenly over cobbled streets with. You would not be the same man I rode into dawn on in a wet field beside your mother's home.
You are probably more tempered, and, less engaged.
If there's anything I've learned about myself at this point, it's that men who love me tend to take no responsibility for it.
It's alright.
She's beautiful, and I can see on her skin that she adores you. Poor girl.
May your life continue to be full of beautiful elegance and may you continue to build into the future you were born for.
And I hope every once in a while when you stand in silence staring at the stars, as you hold your child, you think of when we were kids together, and all of the mistakes we made. Born of misguided fears and love. And I hope you still feel warm for a moment thinking of my skin on yours.
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