My beautiful creature,
It's 10:10. This morning, as it is rare here, is sunny. Finally. The blossoms litter the pats around here. The blossoms probably litter your patio, too. There's sun. God, there's sun.
I sit this exhausted, wrecked body of mine in front of the TV and watch a documentary about dinosaurs - because you like them. Because I feel like I need to know more about the cretaceous period. I needed to Google how to write it - it came out crustacean way too many times.
These past few days have been dark. They absolutely destroyed me, and now I know why. We talked about it, finally, and for that I can't thank you enough. The understanding of it all just hit me like a train.
I'm not going to yap for long. I think I just wanted to tell you that... You are not the 'almost' guy. You'd like to put a label on yourself. To lower yourself to some shelf that would help you make sense of it all - the hurt, the sadness, things going wrong... But that's not how life is. You are above, outside the shelf.
You are a yes. Not an 'almost'.
You are always, always a yes my darling.
How can I show you your worth? How can I convince you that you're worthy of good? I think even if I tossed everything to shit, even if I'd become yours... You'd still doubt yourself. You'd question your worth. If you're good enough. And the answer in your head would be... No.
And I could do nothing to change that.
But I am the same. Never worthy. Never enough. A no-human-like creature that's just there.
And we need to fix this for both our sakes.
I know these days were exhausting for both of us. We are wrecked by our emotions, by sadness, by fear... But we're here. We're still here, ready to help each other, to stand close and endure whatever comes, together.
You are a yes. Not an almost.
A yes I'd drive miles for. A yes for whom I'd show up in the middle of the night. A yes I skip work for. A yes I stay up late for if I need to calm you down.
I know it's not enough. Not nearly.
But you are a yes, and I hold you close, so close to my chest, my heart.
Sometimes I think of my ribcage as a birdhouse. And you live there. Tossing and turning, scraping the walls with your beak till it hurts, bringing in moss and rocks, and I know it's not perfect inside, it's not exactly comfortable... But you're safe from the winds, as much as I can protect you.
So... Open your heart to the world, my dear. Let the warm, gentle breeze in.
You are a yes.
You are always a lovely, beautiful, wonderful yes.