An Open Letter (For Later) to the One Who Holds My Hand

Dear you,

                I know you, even before all these – the first meeting, the fleeting glances and the slight touching of cold fingers. Oh how I prayed for you. I look at you and can’t help but get lost in trance because before, this was all just a concept. A scene I concocted from movie clips, music videos, and words from dog-eared pages that I replay over and over again.

               But here you are.

               In the flesh.

               You are the tangible truth in all my theories, and the living logic of the things that used to not make sense. I have formulated hypotheses of what if’s and what could have been’s and you, you simply gave me the conclusion.

               While others tried to see and reach the non-existent standard, you broke barriers – with your bare hands. And yet you still asked if you can come in when you reached the last door, a place no one has ever reached before. No, I take my words back. I did not pray for you. What I prayed for was that when love knocks on my door, I’ll recognize it instantly. Then you showed up and I saw the bruises on your knuckles, and I thought ‘I know you’.

               Thank you.

               For showing up;

               For holding my hand,

               When all the flowers had wilted;

               For staying.

               I adore you.

Love,

C