Do you remember when I told you I wished I could write down what happened? I was desperate. We were at a restaurant by the sea. In the stillness of time, I despaired of capturing your uniqueness which exceeds all measure: this ground I can never stand on. I needed the security of what had happened, even if I'd already died in the blaze. I see now that I was desperate for you to exist: otherwise I'd die. So for the sake of being, I withstood your scorn and became its possibility. You delighted in my desire for eternity, spurring me on toward you. You needed to exist, just as I do, and mercilessly assured me I would be able to do it: write it down. My darling, little dove, I know that we were accomplices in obscure love, in whose brokenness I have become what I am. You are my heart, at the center of everything and beyond it. I have become capable of loving you, just as you are.