Gwenaëlle,

I do not think I have ever revealed that you struck me when I met you. I had just arrived here, tumbled into this strange world, and there you were. You were curious, but guarded. I do not think I had grasped the whole of it, and so I risked what I now know was impertinence. I thought you charming. I should have stayed longer.

There will be things that I shall do that you will disagree with. I beg that you tell me when I displease you, that we might speak of it, if not in the moment, then always before we leave one another's company. I cannot stand to be parted from you in anger again. You are too dear to me. To probe for what is missing in my life, to not have the words to name it, to sit and stew rather than have your company, your wit, your affection-- you stir me to action. To wishing to hold you, to see you smile. These are feelings that I thought lost.

I am yours as long as you will have me. I am patient. I am steady. I will not leave you behind, or lonely.

T.