Love Letter to Greg

Dear G,

I finally said it. In a text, in response to some fabulous opening line of yours, I just blurted it out…

“OMG – I love you…”

Quickly, I texted something else to distract you, to keep it light, so maybe you wouldn’t notice.

Of course, you noticed.

“What? Why?”

“I just do – no explanation,” I text back. And we move on.

But I am relieved. I have said the thing that has been sitting right there, for months now.

I love you.

It’s not even some long list of attributes that I love. Yes, your pieces all fit together well. But it’s not that.

It’s just you. The spirit of you. The essence. And the way we are so connected, as if our spirit got cut in half about a dozen or two lifetimes ago – and every now and then, we get to touch the halves together again.

You are so gentle in there. After years of tough love, piled on top of empty love – you are like food, air, water.

Your access to truth. Willingness to be vulnerable. Openness to love. Always diving right in to the core. But with a scalpel, never a club.

You brush away parts of me the way a mother wipes crumbs from her child’s face. Shame, doubt, rage…just like that…gone.

I am clean, reborn – new to a love like this.

A love with no having. A love with no form or structure. A love with no time or season.

Even sex feels too small a container, though we’ve visited there. Tumbled down into that ancient place of connection, touched briefly. And when I wanted to stay in that box, when I wanted to turn the unknown of you into something familiar, you gently pull me out. Show me something I’ve never met before. A love undefined.

I love you.

Love you, love you, love you. I can’t say it enough. I can’t say it at all. It would be too much for us both.

But here, on this page, in this room, I speak the unspoken.

I love you.

M.

© Monica Day

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