My love! My love! I can see it! I can see the coast! And I can feel the wind on my back, blowing me ever closer to you. Oh how I wish this ship would move faster!
I’ve been told that despite the fact that the coast is in sight, we won’t reach it for another month, give or take. And yes, that is a little frustrating to me, but after fifteen months of sailing unrecognizable seas, the firm promise of hard ground and a soft bed shared with you is enough to make one month seem like pound cake.
Now that we’ll be seeing each other in just around a month, I know I should leave that horrible waiting period behind, but it seems to come withe me; sneaking in my suitcase, hiding in my hatbox. I’m constantly reminded of how much time was wasted. Time that we could have had together, a home which we could have shared, family we could have raised, all of that was stolen from me. From us, really.
I can already hear your deep, gentle voice. “Käraste, we may have ‘wasted’ 15 months, but what is that compared to the rest of our lives?”
And as I sort out my suitcase, I agree.
The rest of my life is standing in front of me, only a month away, surely, in that month I can find time to throw my bitterness out to the depths of the ocean. Surely, in that month I can find the time to let go completely, and embrace this new life, without any prejudices or anger from the last one.
My love, so ends this letter:
When I first resolved to cross the ocean for my one and only, I didn’t know your name. I only had a vague sense of what you liked and who you were, and an even vaguer sense of what you looked like. All I knew was that I loved you with all of my heart, and that you absolutely adored me.
And I recognized you instantly.