I told you today, yet again, that you are the love of my life. Then I proceeded to tell you I didn’t know what that meant. And that’s just bullshit. I know what I mean when I say it…otherwise I wouldn’t make it my business to say it.

It’s just that it has made you uncomfortable in the past when I’ve said it, and I don’t actually like upsetting you, so I didn’t try very hard to explain myself. We have so many other things to talk about that are fun. You know, things that don’t make you squirm.

Or maybe it’s me who gets all squirmy. I’ve never professed to anyone that they were the love of my life. Plus, it’s a pretty awkward thing for me to profess to you, of all people, given that you have a wife you love very deeply, and whom you probably consider to be the love of your life. I would imagine you struggle with what to say to that, and I am sorry for any discomfort.

But all I am saying when I tell you that you are the love of my life is that (1) I’ve never loved anyone like I love you and (2) my desire is to nurture and tend to that love because iI know myself, I know my needs, and I know what I want. That’s all. I don’t expect you to say anything back, let alone reciprocate.

What I want is for you to believe me. I want you to accept that you are the love of my life and that feeling that way about you makes me happy. In other words, bear witness to this incredible love I’m experiencing for the first time. It’s fucking amazing.

I love you, my darling Craig. I have spent my whole life until I met you wheezing and trying to catch my breath. I was always grasping and frantic and fumbling. But you made everything slow down for me.

Since I’ve met you I’ve noticed that I spend a lot less time reacting to the world around me and more time being present in it. Why rush through the days anymore? I can breath, baby. What a feeling.