An Open Letter To The Wife Of My First Love
Trust that his acts of love will scare you and torture you to no end but that his ability to love and his sacrificial loss has been long influenced by a deeply-rooted void that no one seemed to fill—until you.
I am uncertain of where to even begin, since the circumstances of this letter is of utmost importance to my conscience, so I suppose I will begin by saying that you have in your hands, in your arms, the most beautiful mind anyone has once possessed. I say in pure clarity that no one, no thing, can replace the catastrophic brilliance you are bound to witness. So withhold what you can comprehend and treasure what you cannot, for there are worlds of wisdom and doubt trapped inside those walls.
Trust that his acts of love will scare you and torture you to no end but that his ability to love and his sacrificial loss has been long influenced by a deeply-rooted void that no one seemed to fill—until you. Know that when he seems to linger astray, he will not be gone for long and will certainly return. At times he needs room to wiggle his toes and wriggle free of confinements—and you do too, whether you choose to believe that or not.
He will always shed light on your denial and express how powerful it is, but do not cower in fear of the truth. He is there to help you overcome your obstacles, although in seemingly horrific and glorified ways. Do not take this for granted; not a single soul in this world is going to provide you with such honesty.
Do not be afraid to touch him—even when he is sour to the bone, learn to soften him. He may seem to wear a cold, hard shell, but underneath the facade is the man you once fell in love with. He is there all the time, every minute, every second, every millisecond—lend him more credit than he may deserve when he is attempting to be strong for you. And know that “you” always means “us”—there is no singular “you”. You, your oneness, is no greater muse.
Most importantly, do not forget to fill your life, your days, and your hours with him. Fill your cup to the brim until it’s gushing over and encompassing everything that surrounds it. If you must wish, wish you could be the coffee that touches his lips each morning. Wish to be the shirt that hugs his frame. Wish to be the water he bathes in after a creative battle. Wish that your child will have his somber, forgiving eyes.
Do all this because I cannot. Do all this because you are the one.
