My Love,

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