here to enjoy it with me.
After they left, I rocked in silence, thinking back on our life together. You are
always here with me when I do so, at least in my heart, and it is impossible for
me to remember a time when you were not a part of me. I do not know who I would
have become had you never come back to me that day, but I have no doubt that I
would have lived and died with regrets that thankfully I'll never know.
I love you, Allie. I am who I am because of you. You are every reason, every hope,
and every dream I've ever had, and no matter what happens to us in the future,
every day we are together is the greatest day of my life. I will always be yours.
And, my darling, you will always be mine.
Noah I put the pages aside and remember sitting with Allie on our porch when she
read this letter for the first time. It was late afternoon, with red streaks cutting the
summer sky, and the last remnants of the day were fading. The sky was slowly
changing color, and as I was watching the sun go down, I remember thinking about
that brief, flickering moment when day suddenly turns into night.
Dusk, I realized then, is just an illusion, because the sun is either above the horizon
or below it. And that means that day and night are linked in a way that few things
are; there cannot be one without the other, yet they cannot exist at the same time.
How would it feel, I remember wondering, to be always together, yet forever apart?
Looking back, I find it ironic that she chose to read the letter at the exact moment
that question popped into my head. It is ironic, of course, because I know the
answer now. I know what it's like to be day and night now; always together, forever
apart.
There is beauty where we sit this afternoon, Allie and I. This is the pinnacle of
my life ∙ They are here at the creek: the birds, the geese, my friends. Their bodies
float on the cool water, which reflects bits and pieces of their colors and make
them seem larger than they really are. Allie too is taken in by their wonder, and
little by little we get to know each other again.
"It's good to talk to you. I find that I miss it, even when it hasn't been that long."
I am sincere and she knows this, but she is still wary. I am a stranger.
"Is this something we do often?" she asks. "Do we sit here and watch the birds a
lot? I mean, do we know each other well?"
"Yes and no. I think everyone has secrets, but we have been acquainted for years."
She looks to her hands, then mine. She thinks about this for a moment, her face at
such an angle that she looks young again. We do not wear our rings. Again, there
is a reason for this. She asks:
"Were you ever married?"
I nod.
“ Yes .”
"What was she like?"
I tell the truth.
"She was my dream. She made me who I am, and holding her in my arms was more
natural to me than my own heartbeat. I think about her all the time. Even now,
when I'm sitting here, I think about her. There could never have been another.''
She takes this in. I don't know how she feels about this. Finally she speaks softly,
her voice angelic, sensual. I wonder if she knows I think these things.
"Is she dead?"
What is death? I wonder, but I do not say this. Instead I answer, "My wife is alive
in my heart. And she always will be."
"You still love her, don't you?"
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