Of life, love, death and what comes after
A love letter to beyond
How do I write this? Do I write this? Would you like me to write this? You must be cringing. You were always so private; our little world was always so much just our own. Maybe too much so. But I don’t think I would have it any other way. No man is an island, but a man & wife can be. And we were, very much an island adrift in our own little ocean wrenched now and again into the mundane. So I will write this as it comes, stream of consciousness and all. Raw. Because that is how you left me, raw. Without any warning. While I planned our tomorrows and relished the time the pandemic was giving us together, no airports, no urgent meetings to get to, going to bed every night together. Simple. Simply happy. We planned our post-pandemic lives — no more rat-race, but standing up and being counted when it counts, for those that should count, burrowing, evening come, into our sanctuary-for-two — safe harbor. So I will write this, because this is my love letter to you, this is the story of how I will make my way back to you. You left me, you died. And with you, so did I. If Romeo is dead, Juliette cannot be Juliette, there is no Layla without a Majnoon — but love, love survives. So this is what I pledge to be: love, because that is what you were, that is what we were together. You are gone, I cannot be me, so I will be love. I will be love, and I will make you proud, I will be love for you. “My boon” is what you called me; your Boon is what I will be. Not just in this life, but whatever comes after.