I was doing the dishes tonight, and I thought of you, again, for a wee second. If I was honest, though, it never has been a wee second. I have thought of you tirelessly and endlessly for years. I know I said I should write you more letters, but life and the way we always seem to miss each other has made that terribly difficult. Not that difficulty has any importance when it comes to love, but then again, what do I know of loving someone? I have barely begun to love myself.
When I think of us—you—I often go back to lying near the raging sea in the middle of June all those years ago. The happiness on your face from that night has kept me going for a long time now. That was many Junes ago. I’ve abhorred monsoons since. It was only recently that I have learned to embrace the rain again. It still reminds me of you. That, or a cup of chamomile after getting soaked.
When in the valley, I still think of the winding roads, the hairpin turns, of watching the town at our feet, of the blinking lights shining in your eyes as you told me about your day. The truth is, my little argument with the hometown is simply that you’re not here anymore. The streets, while crowded, are awfully empty without us walking together. For that reason alone, this city will never be what it once was, or what it can be; it will never be home.
Even with all the talk of letting go, of being friends, of losing ourselves to time, of everything else in between, I have missed you terribly. Some part of me, while entirely okay with this absence, will always think of you when October begins. I miss you like the night sky misses the stars in cities with too many people and too much light; not entirely empty on its own but well aware of how it is when the stars are around.
I wanted to write you a letter like I promised I would. I got caught up with life for a bit, but it all came back to me as I did the dishes tonight. While I have to go now, I have nothing but all the love in the world for you, regardless of time, space, or any reality.
A part of me will always remain drenched with you on that evening in June, laughing, as the waves lashed and pounced around us.
I’m glad it has to be that way.