Sweetheart

Dear Long Lost.

      I’ve been busy writing other letters tonight, though I feel the hours have been short between work and now. I’ve been thinking of and writing to my high school sweetheart, who I know that you’ll recall quite well. As bad as your memory is, I know it’s no surprise to you that he and I are still, as ever, in close touch. What will surprise you, I think, is the maturity with which our relationship has grown. I’m no longer the solitary engine propelling our communications forward, but rather I find in him an equal partner, and one who occasionally knows me and my moods better than I do myself.

      It’s true, of course, that we’ve grown inevitably apart, but in many ways we’ve still grown together. I cherish the respect and candidness with which we now deal with each other, especially since we were well-known previously to have such poor dealings with each other, often seeming to talk past one another, or purposely hit each other’s wrong chords. I was more guilty of this than him, and I’ll readily admit it. There was something I found incredibly satisfying in getting a rise out of him, though the “rise” used to manifest itself in him in a less satisfying form than say, you, who wouldn’t hesitate to raise your voice or make a counter accusation. My Sweetheart, on the other hand, has only truly ever engaged with me in such a manner once, and I think it scared us both enough that we’ve no desire ever to do it again. We both learned something very valuable from that incident, and I daresay it was the same lesson. I learned that I could touch the most sensitive part of him, and he learned that that part could actually be reached by someone, which I think that he previously had not considered possible. And so we called truce after that night, crawling forgivingly into each other’s arms and reassuring each other with a new earnestness that we loved in a way that would never desire the other change. For the most part, since then the only thing we’ve desired of each other is happiness.

      He’s a father now, both of us probably long past a point of romantic attachment, but still I find a comfort in our conversation, in his eyes that all too often seem to reflect the color of sky, whether gray or blue or somewhere in between. How strange that of anyone he should become the anchor for my past, the touchstone to which I return for comfort. I mused about these things as I wrote to him tonight. I’m lonely for that kind of comfort and the kind of understanding I’ve come to expect from him. I can feel, too, that he shares the same cravings.

      And lest the thought has crossed your mind, there’s no need to be jealous, Long Lost. On the contrary, I could almost as easily say these same things about you, though in some cases to a different extent. In our arguments, as I alluded, you and I have been more vehement, though perhaps not less venemous. In our reconcilitation, we’ve been just as heatfelt, too, is somewhat less ashamed of our anger. That’s certainly one difference – my Sweetheart and I have always been more explicit in apology than you or I have ever been, except in very recent memory.

      I’m beholden to him in a different way than I am to you though. I’ve never known quite how to qualify the difference, but I’ve also never doubted its existence. In some ways, you and he are two sides of what can only be a single coin. For the most part I’ve ceased to seek explanation or clarification on the matter, as it seems enough to merely recognize it. The question, I suppose, is whether you two have come to similar conclusions, and if not, then which of us is right? But if you have come to similar conclusions, then I imagine we’ll each enjoy a rare harmony for the long years to come, for surely any part of those conclusions must acknowledge that we are all three of us irrevocably tied together.

Toujours,
      –

Advertisement