I used to think that my words would reach you somehow. And so I sent them out like prayers. Because I wanted to connect with you. Because I loved you.
Even when strangers read my posts, when I saw the men you worked with reviewing and assessing, because they seemed to believe I was something like them: perfunctory and clandestine. Even then, I still felt a little closer to you. Because they were connected to you.
But my words never hit their mark.
I was fighting for you. Of course I wanted to be with you - but that wasn't what I was fighting for. I was fighting for your soul. I was fighting for mine.
It's been thirteen years. Thirteen.
Not a day goes by that I don't ache, knowing what I lost.
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