Dear Ms. K:

I leaned against the fourth floor window, my breath rhythmically drawing and echoing against the cold damp pane. Snowflakes from winter’s last gasp adorned the scarf of warmth and the remnants of footprints hurried away.  No kiss, no longing touch, no long emotional grasp. Neither mustered the courage of ancient crusaders to reverse the deathly hallow of that which God so eloquently filled.

In truth, the path of one’s footprints reveals the soul’s weight. And there in the vestibule’s diminishing light, you stepped away from my world. Years later, my soul remains scorched in the reciprocal misery needlessly suffered. Halted by time, halted in the limbo of love, I’m emotionally destitute; caught between god and the golden calf, sandwiched between heaven and hell. And for nary a day have I been free. My actions gained nothing more, but am every bit less.

An honorable man would have channeled a forgotten warrior, pounded the breastplate of battle and summoned love’s eternal flame. He would have fought ego to the death. You were the fight worth fighting. Only in the solitude of Obstruction Pass did I find truth: you were the divine, my only divine. Yes Ms. K., you were the ordinal perfection of my life. Had I only lay upon my sword, garnered God’s truth and beseeched thee for forgiveness. But alas, none did I.

You deserved someone who can love you right where you are. You deserve to be where love builds upon another versus burning from the raging fire within. Yes we loved, yes our embers flared and yes the flames of passion danced, but did our souls ever agree? Were we both able to share and nurture in love’s boldness, its courage and compassion? In the depth of night, the wee hours of darkness where the heart beats mercilessly echoes and the soul longs, did you feel the ache? Does the soul yearn? Does it push or pull? Do you quest while I crave?

Maybe we were predestined: two wayfaring souls pulled like forcible tides into one another, momentarily spared of the crash by the laws of love, the law of Christ. Truly our transcendence meant little to the surrounding world, remaining anonymous among men. But our internal volcanoes blasted past primordial domes and we soothed one another in quenching love.

Still, years have passed, my love smolders. I lay waste by obscurity, with a heartache none should bear. I am splinted, a broken yoke without its whole. Pain runs deep and my harbor remains vastly silent. Darkness snuffs light and no longer do I bathe in grace. I wish the years away, to be a child in thine arms, ever amazed at heaven’s splendor.

Here in the dessert. I thirst. I hunger. I pray, lying prostrate to the almighty, hosts of hosts. I seek His guidance, the cryptex’s password, to your love, to grace and promise to never recklessly misplace your love.

I love thee Ms. K. Will you forgive? Can I come home?