January 1, 2011

My dearest,

This is me, realising you are the kingdom that I do not run. This is you, the secrets we hold, the tales that we have spun. This is us, the stars in our eyes, the leaves in our hair, the arguments and the adventures and everything that we may dare. To not risk is not to live, they tell us; yet to risk is danger without caring enough first. We wade into the sea, the waves threaten to overcome, yet two holding hands is greater than the sum of only one.

These are two candles, whose lights have gone out. Cold and useless no matter how strongly they stand, how stout. But strike a match and let them share a flame; the room is brighter and warmer, and our hearts the same.

This moment, this time, lasts not forever, shall fly like winged doves. This is sacred, as though blessed by the Heavens above. This is love.

Yours, ever and always.