M’eudail,

I put down the book for a while, went to the kitchen for water and it just popped in my mind: “I need you.” I wonder what you’re doing now. Sleeping? Looking up at the oak beams in the ceiling, unable to sleep with restlessness not figured out? Dozing off in the leather armchair by the dying fire in the library, a book resting on your lap? Or is it too hot already for a fire, I wonder? But you left the window open and a gust of chill might eventually cool your cheeks and wake you with a slight shiver as dawn breaks. I wish I were there to ease the crease between your brows with a kiss and rub the tip of my finger gently on the deep red mark the rim of your glasses carved on the bridge of your nose.

“I need you” struck me with a shock, you know. I’ve been doing my best for a long time not to need anyone. I hope you will understand that it came then as a way of being at peace with solitude and dealing with the dread of depending and being depended on. The need to be unattached. Free to go (where, I wonder?). But “I need you” comes now with a different meaning I can’t quite make out. All I know – feel – is, it’s huge, overwhelming. Scary. Like walking through fire. But I’m willing to do it if it takes me to you.

I hold my breath and shut my eyes and say a prayer for you. Sweet dreams, m’eudail.” That feathery brush on your cool lips? It’s just the ghost of my kiss.