Dear Olaf,

For some reason, I was thinking about the time you shared with me a decision you were wavering with long ago. If my recollection is correct, you didn’t ask for my opinion, but still, I gave it in reply. I think it had something to do with considering the impact of decisions on door closures. I don’t remember exactly, but it’s the fact that although your issues were somewhat veiled, you chose to share it with me, believing I would understand, that stands out to me.

Being a confidant has been one of my leading roles in life since childhood. Though I wear many hats, this one was formed from my limbs and is part and parcel of who I am. You, being who you are, and trusting me in this role, was unforeseen and in some ways, shocking.

Between the skies we shared, I don’t think we ever saw each other, for the pedestals we’d placed upon one another. I looked up to you for all the things I saw and felt that you could not say or express. I look up to you, for the things I do and do not know, which amounts to what you might believe is a blind obsession on some days and pure love on others.

The serendipitous story of us has become a tethering between fiction and fantasy, where we exist in one another’s lives only to become the plot summary of a non-fiction romance. There seems in my mind no other reason for us to have remained connected.

If this tether is painful for me, I know it is for you as well.

There are days when the pain of not being able to touch you physically overshadows the sun, where I want to believe that loving you has been a trick of the light. That I’ve fainted in a pool of love and that someone is standing by with smelling salts to awaken me.

Too many times, I’ve witnessed pain become a person’s default and a prescription for living, and I’ve seen the joy in others who live without the gel capsule scripts of their past. I don’t want to be for you, a pain pill of the past nor a burden of the present.

I want to remain the person you hesitate to trust, the person you fear to love, the life you feel impossible because I know you are finding over time, that I hold nothing for you except a heart full of love.

I want to be the person you question, the person you doubt, the person you don’t believe exists, because I know you are finding over time, that I am as real as your eyeglasses and the eyesight that depends on them.

I want you to believe in love everlasting because we attract what we believe. I wish for you to die in the arms of everlasting love, and even if they are not mine or another’s, I want them to be your own.

You are the most unique person I’ve ever met. Oddly, at times you seem the only person I’ve ever met, and you mean the world to me because I didn’t know someone like you existed. We all carry darkness, and our art helps us release it. Sometimes our masks and stories must be resigned to the art of survival so that we can find the beauty in every shrouded masterpiece that leads us to self-truth.

The clocks may not melt in anyone’s eyes except the one who portrayed it so, and while some depreciate the artist’s perspective as illusion or falseness, the truth is that it is only his eyes that must make peace with time.

Thank you for everything that can’t be articulated in words through this letter, or physically expressed. Though I wish to melt more into you, I have made peace with our clocks and hope you have too. You are the only soul with an open invitation to my heart; as a friend, lover, spiritual companion, or muse.

It has been enough for me to extend the invitation as the expectation of a reply is too much.

Even now, I lie to myself because on occasion it comforts me.

It is never enough, and maybe this is the overriding message of our connection. Satisfaction with status quo equals complacency, and nothing good can come from leaving dreams in a basement freezer to burn.

In whatever way your dreams catch fire, may they warm you in all the places you struggle or shiver in anxiety. May you find acceptance in once believing or wanting to believe the deceit of others, as a way to release the false conviction that you should have known better or seen further.

As much as I’ve obsessed with wanting to know the future, I recognize it is not ours to identify. Were we to have that knowledge, we would avoid the very grief that leads us to aligning with our most significant victories, and victory is the intention of purpose.

May your burdens be lifted, not away from your shoulders, but in the removal of loads, not yours to carry.