I have a “secret” profile on Fetlife where I post some of my more sensitive blogs. This is a love letter I wrote several months ago.
There was a version of him who worshiped the light in my eyes. Before the darkness overtook his soul, and maybe even still then. He’d stopped going to church, but he still prayed in his own way.
Now, he is a memory, an idea, a series of stories that have been carefully curated into an album one pulls out to show company.
And here is the time that….
And then there was the time that….
It’s hard, sometimes to pinpoint exact moments when I felt his love, but not at all to remember how it felt to be consumed by his love. Not the kind of love that is fleeting and temporary. The kind that is unhinged, unhampered, and undeniable.
There was a love after him but it was careful and methodical and questioning. It was too afraid and it fell.
You are not afraid. You, with your quiet confidence. With your understated presence. You fill the room by not trying. There is no search for glory, there is no “game” to win, there is no disembodied force to fight.
You are just you. Without apology. Without need for apology.
You look upon me as though I were fine art. To be admired, and cherished, and even celebrated; but not worshiped. For you, I am not descended from the heavens but grown from the earth. There is the magic of fairy tales and the miracle of science.
And I do so love to do science with you.
I wonder, had this been a relay and not a reboot, if he’d been around to meet you, how he would have felt about this quirky situation of ours?
He worshiped the light in my eyes. I think, if he could, he’d take one look at me now that you’re in my life and drop to his knees before you with gratitude for bringing it back.