I Swear You Will Be Fine

I used to read a lot of poetry when I was much younger, and I told you about this particular poet’s writing that I really enjoyed. I can’t recall the exact conversation we were having, but I talked about this poet because she has an adorable love story. Lang Leav is a poet who published several books about love, and mostly wrote to her lover. She wrote about love very beautifully (I can only hope to ever produce such beautiful writings). At that time, I was also reading works by this other poet, Michael Faudet, who was also writing to his lover. It was only a while after that it clicked in my head – Lang and Michael were writing to each other, and they eventually got married. I don’t know what happened after they got married – if they had kids, if they kept writing and dedicating books to each other, or if their marriage ended unhappily (I’m not about to google it either, in case it didn’t end well. I’d very much rather think of their story fondly.) Anyway, I remember casually mentioning these two poets to you and you also agreed that their relationship was super cute.

I sometimes wonder if I’d be able to conjure such beautiful, loving lines to you. And honestly, I think I probably would write everything that I’m writing now. Though of course, with much less sadness and publicity (I’d just be handwriting letters to you and sealing them with cute stickers, like I did and still do now). But I definitely would still be writing as much as I can to you. Michael once wrote about Lang, “I write because you exist.” – and I fully resonate with his words. The feelings you give me when you were on Earth remain even after you’ve left, so I imagine they would have still been here, strong as ever, if you were physically present – and with the feelings you give me, come the words to express them. I can only write about our love because it exists.

I wanted to share an excerpt from one of Lang’s books that I recalled after you left for Heaven. It goes:

“If you came to me with a face I have not seen, with a voice I have not heard, I would still know you. Even if centuries separated us, I would still feel you. Somewhere between the sand and the stardust, through every collapse and creation, there is a pulse that echoes you and I. When we leave this world, we give up all our possessions and our memories. Love is the only thing we take with us. It is all we carry from one life to the next.”

I once wrote about how I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to find you again in another life. I have also been worried that you wouldn’t choose me again. Sometimes I think I need reminders of how well we fit together. I read this excerpt and felt some sort of reassurance. Yes, somewhere between the sand and the stardust, there is us and there is our love. Our love is not fleeting; it does not burn out or dim. No two pieces of a puzzle fit as well as we do, and that is not an easy feat, such compatibility. We will not be something that comes and goes. Sometimes I forget, then I remember – there is no one like us. You are mine, and I am yours.

I was on my way home from your grandparents’ place one night. The past two days had been difficult, and I really needed a hint that you were still with me. The moon caught my eye as I looked up, and I recalled what I wrote to you on my first letter to you when I left for Japan. I wrote something along the lines of, “We might be far apart for now, but if you miss me, look up to the night sky and know that we are under the same moon. We are not as far as you might think.” When I looked up at the moon, I wondered if you were also looking up at it a while ago when we were only countries away. And now, we might be far apart, but at least when I look up at the moon, I know that we are looking at the same one – and maybe we aren’t as far as I think.

I can’t wait to see you again. I love you more, always, and forever.

Love always,
Sha