To my crafty boy,

Our chapter ended last night. It’s just that, a chapter. We exist un-ended but left, for now, in yesterday. The fun in knowing you is a lifeblood, and I could easily convince myself our time has been a whirlwind but I'd be wrong. It’s been a steady gathering, a natural expansion of trust, shared experiences, and what I truly believed to have been love.

Tonight I lay alone with my arm outstretched, and my fingertips swelled cold. The air settled in my palm and I felt the tension of your skin on mine, the familiar feeling of when we lie running our hands through each other’s. Your fingers, falling and rising over mine in that intimate tempo we know so well. If I hadn’t have opened my eyes, I could have sworn it was yours in my hand.

My Harry, you were unexpected, and I see so clearly the door I’m closing in making this decision. It’s large, a barn door, your favourite colour of foggy sea green. It’s flaking at the edges but held by ivy starting to sprawl. Its buckles are black, strong and wide across the weight of it. I would say I know what lies behind it, but I will never know those perfect details of moments. I’ll never know the thousands of final kisses you might have planted when I should have left 5 minutes ago, or the way we might turn in the night, cycling through different positions to be close to each other.

I’ll never know how much I could have loved you. I have to forgive myself for that, but not now. Not while the feeling of those moments still burns so brightly on my heart.

---

How unexpected it always is. I'm writing this part 7 months later and I know more of those many kisses. I'm glad to have been so wrong, and to know those moments with you every day. I know your company in the sun and I can call you when I want to hear your voice. You are home on the hill, you joy is my joy, and here, I know just how much I love you.