“And I believe in the future
We shall suffer no more
Maybe not in my lifetime
But in yours, I feel sure”

As I read your mail today morning I was sad and somehow happy at the same time. I see how much distance you have put between yourself and me. How you don’t talk about anything emotional in it. How it’s all laid out clearly but cleanly. Yet, you do want to spend time with me. But I’m afraid it might be time that is distant. The reason it was so good with you, was that I felt your closeness. I felt that you cared that there was something between us that was magical, rare, truly magnificent. It’s as if that fragile ball has been dropped and we may still spend time together, but we’ll have to start all over again. And those five short days will be very little to build again, with gentle care, what has been broken. I’m afraid to see you, all different and grown, and me being the same old me, who only changed in one way: that I would give absolutely anything for your love. But it’s not about giving. It’s about being who we are and then hoping that the other appreciates it and starts to love us again. It’s about the hope of love, that ever-elusive thing that one can chase but never truly hold.