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My Dearest,

These last few days of feeling like you may never forgive me have been a violence on my heart. I am sorry. You always tell me that I don’t share enough with you, well here it is. All the things that I want to tell you, characteristically late but full of all the hope that I can muster.

I know you believe that people are even worse than the worst thing they’ve done to you. but maybe this is your moment to exercise grace and take a chance on the idea the opposite might be true. I want to tell you that I am better than the worst thing I’ve ever done to you and I hope you believe me. We depend on it.

I regret that I hurt you, that I infuriated you. I wish I hadn’t. I brought up that awful discussion because you and I have a sharing policy. I want you to be perfectly aware of the kinds of things that I’m confronted with. Under normal circumstances, can you imagine if I was approached with that information and kept it to myself? Would that not seem dishonest, would that not breed suspicion. I know you have the courage to do this work here. You can afford me the leeway that I didn’t know what I was doing or what I was getting into with you. That’s the way you treat people you care about. That’s the way that I want to be loved.

In turn I promise to believe you and to trust you always. To not let dangerous noise get in the way, to focus instead on the signal. I think it holds true that on journeys like this

Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
wild Poseidon — you won’t encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you, (Ithaka, 1911)

In matters of the heart, I pray what I like to think is a “true” prayer. That is to say, I don’t ask God for success in any particular relationship with any particular person. Instead I ask him to help me stay open to learning. I ask him to help me go through the thing I need to go through in order to be ready for the union he has destined for me. Knowing you has been a great wilderness but more often a profound peace. Prayer has been a great companion.

I want to tell you that there are many things I dislike about you a great deal. You are frustrating and proud, and unbearably stubborn in arguments. You’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. You have this immense capacity to understand everything, but instead you pick and choose, especially when you encounter something that makes you angry or vulnerably or even something that confronts you with the ways in which you might have erred. You can be an emotionally manipulative, gaslighting extraordinaire. All this can make me wonder at times, if you are a dangerous person to believe in. Like when you ask me if I have anyone else in my life holding me or if I’m seeing anyone and I say no. You then respond with “I don’t want to see anyone either”. A statement of intent, not a reflection of the present. I notice all these things. Difficult and beautiful, that I how I would describe knowing you.

I’m really into how smart you are, have I ever told you that? More than smart, you’re engaged. I’m constantly in awe of how widely you read, how firmly you hold (albeit with good reason) to your contrarian ways of thinking. The love and responsibility you feel toward your family and their happiness is the most refreshing thing. The deep sense of duty you feel to your community is nothing short of inspiring. You’ve lived such a full life and so you have stories for days, which i love hearing about. You know this. Thank you for approaching me with all the care that you do, You know exactly when to use humour to diffuse a situation, or to highlight how ridiculous and dramatic I am sometimes. You also know how to get really still when you need to reassure me of something. That is my favorite thing.

I’m still getting to know you. That’s the exciting part. I’ve never been one of those people that thinks all the fun comes at the beginning and “it only gets worse”. No for me it’s quite the opposite, my relationships only get better, as my understanding of who you are deepens.

I want to tell you that the only way to move past this thing is to begin to introduce each other to the important people in our lives. And by important i mean people who know us beyond the headlines. People who’ve seen us at our best and worst and have stake in our happiness. The idea is for us to learn from them about each other. We are in desperate need of character witnesses, otherwise I worry that this tenuous experiment of us may not persevere. We can’t do it alone you see.

I want to tell you that the only days I don’t daydream are those that I spend with you. Why would I need to go wondering elsewhere when I am at the source? I remember when I first realized this — that you are the source — it reminded me of a passage that you’ll recall,

“I often found myself uttering a spontaneous prayer that went, simply: [He] is still here. It was as if a rushing river had routed itself through my house, which pervaded now by a freshwater scent and the awareness of something lavish, natural, and breathtaking always moving nearby” (Lincoln in The Bardo).

I want to tell you to choose me. There, I said it. Pick me. Every time, seven ways till Sunday. Even in the middle of all the bullshit, choose me. Because You and Me is how this thing started. Seated outside of the Café in Wings overlooking the Marina, on a public holiday weekend. You made me feel like all of time was outstretched before me. So if you find yourself dithering, getting lost in the seemingly endless chatter around us, remember how we started, and look for me. Find my eyes wherever in the world they may be, and I will be a homecoming.

I want to tell you that when I am dithering I remember sitting on the grey couch at our Lekki Airbnb. Your back was leaned against my chest and my hands laid gently against your chest. Being in your presence was a gift, a perfect meditation. It was a revelation of what it means to be deeply connected in the moment, able to feel the ease and gravitas of each additional breath.

The other day you accused me of being “jittery”. It’s true I am. I feel immensely blessed, despite the hurt that I’m going through right now. Only because of the gift you’ve given me these last few weeks. I think you are my ithaka. You might hold a lifetime of learning on beauty, on pleasure and pain, on struggle and wisdom. I hope our journey is a long one.