Dear John,
Nights are the hardest. It's when I think about you the most, even after all this time.
Even after all this time, I still love you. I know when I see you again, it will feel the same.
The same energy. The same intensity. The same inexplicable, irrevocable longing.
Comfort is easy to find in others, but it's the metaphysical sense I feel with you that is so beyond my ability to even form these sentences. No words can begin to capture the thing that happens when we are in the same room together. I can't replace that, God knows I've tried.
So tonight I toast this glass of wine to you and think fondly on all those insoluble moments.
No comments:
Post a Comment