I know that you are there, and there’s not here in any way.
But life is strange; it brings us night the moment we embrace the day.
I’d so much rather be there now; to see your eyes and stroke your hair —
But if we are not where we are, then we aren’t really anywhere.
I would come back to you across a thousand angry, boiling seas.
No accident could keep me here; no grave misfortune or disease.
For I’ll come back to you, and soon: as long as I have life and breath.
I’ll pass through hostile lands; I’ll learn each password and each shibboleth.
For love to me is mostly you; I live to see you once again,
And will before too long, I swear.
I love you,
Luckiest of Men