October 22, 2021

My dearest,

We didn’t meet in springtime. It was too early. We were children then, even when we became of age. The world was still so new, full of promise. Adventures to be had. Once we could, we travelled the world, our paths never quite crossing though we passed the same cities: Edinburgh, Melbourne, Paris.

Our first date one hot summer night, rain drenched and heavy with traffic. It was dinner, you remind me, not a date. You’re right, of course, but who could remember when it transitioned to a date, then dating, then more? The early years were full of passion. Adventures to be had. Once we could, we moved in together. Got our own place. We travelled the world, stepping on new paths and repeating old ones together. Budapest, Macau, Cape Town. Edinburgh, Melbourne, Paris.

And in years to come, but not too soon, we pray, we prepare for the winter of our lives. We will grow older, our hair grey then white. Wrinkles, more of them. Our pace will slow. Retirement no longer a fantasy but the now and present. Yet we will still see everything with fresh eyes, full of light. Adventures to be had. We will travel or we will not. We can still reminisce. The good times and the best. Taipei, Ushuaia, Kyoto. Edinburgh, Melbourne, Paris.

What seasons we have had and what seasons more there are to come.

Right now feels almost autumnal. Full of fire and gold. Full of magic and hope. We have sown our seeds and now it is time to reap the grain. Harvest time. Who knows what adventures we will have? Not you, not me. But we will take them all on, hand in hand, your head resting against mine. We will travel where ever we may: Edinburgh, Melbourne, Paris. Bangkok, Tokyo, Waiheke.

Yours, ever and always.