I cannot and do not wish to think of a life without you in it.
Our relationship has had its ups and downs. Sometimes we’re in too deep and we know it. We stay up far too late; we hide from family members and responsibilities so that we can spend more time together. We can border on the obsessive when it comes to our devotion to one another. In those moments, I wonder if our relationship is a little unhealthy. We love hard.
And then just like that, we have a falling out. I hate to say this, but I believe it’s your fault. I know that I give my all to you, Books. Even if I’m not sure what you’re trying to say or where you’re taking me, I will dutifully match my footsteps to yours and persevere. I hate giving up on you. Hate it. I take it personally because it feels like failure. But sometimes, no amount of perseverance or determination will do. We have to concede that it’s just not working.
Experiences like that have broken me more than once. I’ve felt myself grow apathetic, disinterested. But I keep coming back to you – miserable, but too bonded with you to really pull away – and we try something new. It doesn’t always work.
The memories of the good times – the Sunday mornings in bed, the late nights spent together, the tears and the laughter, the times you’ve truly shocked me – even the times you’ve made me mad. They all keep me coming back for more.
For better or worse, Books, you are the great love of my life. Together we’ve experienced time travel, brutal wars, summers in Italy, the markets in Ghana, winters in Leningrad. We’ve cried at lost loves and bruised hearts, been visibly shaken at atrocities too awful to mention, and rejoiced when things turned out just how we dreamed they would.
My only sadness is that in my lifetime I will never be able to spend enough time with you or listen to all of the stories you have to tell.
There is so much more that I could say about you but I have to make this quick.
I can feel your impatience as you wait for me in the other room.