Monday, December 03, 2012

Your Gifts to Me

You've given me an awareness of my death and with it has come a strange and sometimes irritating inability to focus on my present. I can't help but think about the future now, about the future we might or might not have together. That's what I wanted to tell you with that song, that because of you, I know I will die one day. But because of you, I've also begun to imagine this death of old age, by your side, after a long fulfilling life together. I've imagined children and grandchildren. But I cannot imagine anyone but you as their father and grandfather.

Today I was watching Inception, when you left, and I saw Dom and Mal and the way they grew to be old souls together, building a world together, dreams within dreams within dreams. All my life I have longed for a love that is stronger than time, that outlives the moment, an idea of fate and predestination. I have longed for a story, a thing safely contained, where I know I am loved and that this love will endure because I've read the ending.

I haven't read our ending.

There are times now, when I'm not sure of anything anymore, but you've given me the gift of not caring, of knowing that caring will not make the ending any less heart-wrenching or any less unexpectedly terrifying.

I wish only to live in the present with you, because hopes and dreams and plans are just that, and sometimes they do not happen at all, or they do in a completely different and unforeseen way. I wish to plan and dream and hope with you but only as much as the present allows us to.

I wish to tell our story now, even if the ending isn't written yet.