3:00 am on a cold January night, 1996.
You are lying asleep in the darkness, just beyond the reach of my arms. I’m borrowing these moments from the dead of night to give back to you as a Valentine’s gift.
Before you came into my life, I’d never understood circles if gold and promises of always. But I began to love you with an ache I’d never felt before as I read your words, because they revealed such a brave and honest heart. And soon after we met, I knew I’d be a fool to waste a single day of the rest of my life without you.
Every day since, I have resonated with a deeper timbre of love for you. Every day I hum these complex rhythms to you with my fingertips, with my mouth, with my heart.
If angry blows and hate-tempered steel cuts short my days, I’d whisper my thanks for your love with my second-last breath. With my last I’d cry out for one more day to love you well. I’d leave behind my love that changed you—a love no bigot or bully can ever steal from you.
But if, as I hope, I grow very old with you, you’ll only hear me voice this one complaint: These precious days are hurtling past too fast. I long to wrestle with the arms of the watchtower clock until the moon hangs motionless in the sky, and the sun burns with impatience below the horizon.
For now, I will crawl back into bed with you, and cherish what’s left of our night.