megfowler.com

I’ve written about you a lot.

I hope you don’t mind… it’s just how I tend to figure things out.

I mean, I guess I didn’t always know what I was talking about (and I still don’t), so I likely scuffed up your reputation now and again.

But I meant well. And mean well.

Thing is, I think you’re amazing. At the same time as I think you are confusing and elusive and complicated and problematic and incomprehensible and irresistible and irreplaceable and insane, I find that there’s nothing in the world I want more.

That’s sappy. I know.

But the feeling of finding you, of keeping you… even of losing you… is so hardwired into the function of my heart that the coming and going is like breathing.

I have fallen in love with so many things.

So many people. So many plans. So many hopes. And there’s always something I can reach for, no matter how many times you have slipped from my grasp.

Am I too optimistic? I don’t know. You’ve broken me more than once, so to take you on lightly seems like flying a kite into a hurricane.

But even when you hurt me, I don’t want to stop trying. I mean, I do. But I can’t.

Even when I’ve forgotten how you feel, I know my sense memory will recognize you again in a second.

Even when I am lacking trust and lacking faith and lacking the confidence in myself to give and receive you, I know you will remain until I figure it all out. And then some.

Even when you go, I know you’ll come back another way. No matter how long it takes.

Thank you for being my constant, even when you weren’t.

Thank you for being my test, even when I failed.

Thank you for being my challenge, even when I could not meet you.

Thank you for being my comfort, even when it was you I needed comfort from.

Thank you for being my future, even when I could barely make you out in the distance.

I will mess you up again.

But I believe, no matter what, that you are the truest map of my dreams and my days.

Whether I have the will to see that or not in the moment.

May I always have the will.

I love you back,

Meg