April 20, 2022

My dearest,

I’m thinking about how clouds move. They drift left and then right. East and west, up and down. There’s no way of telling which direction these clouds will go. And so it is with life.

Who would have imagined we’d be living in a different country, working from home and at cafés, soaking it up at onsens and deciding between wood fire pizzas or straw broiled freshwater eel? So much has changed.

Yet maybe not so much.

Most mornings I still get up to brew some pour over coffee for you. We still debate about what to have for lunch and for dinner. Older now, we take our supplements religiously, you tapping out the capsules onto both my outstretched palms, one handful for you and one handful for me.

Our clouds have no discernible shape, or they do but their shape never stays the same. But our clouds are beautiful whatever form they take – sometimes like a man laughing, sometimes like the sails of a distant ship – and so are we, so is our love.

Yours, ever and always.