You may never read this, although I’m hoping that you are able to. Your words from two weeks ago are still echoing in my head—”before we live with regrets”—and I have to tell you, honestly, I have no regrets when it comes to you.
Ours is a story of true love.
Not a romantic sort of love—that type that hits you hard and is filled with passion, yet fades away as the years pass.
No, ours is that slow burning kind of love. That knowing, fully vulnerable, deep from within the soul kind of love. The kind that has been there forever and will last long after we are both gone.
When we first met, I felt an instant connection to you, as if we’d known each other our whole lives. It seems that I wasn’t the only one to notice since everyone around us thought that to be true. You showed up in my life and haven’t left my side since. Even when we stopped speaking to each other for a time, we still always chose our friendship and picked up as though not a day had passed.
I should have known that my marriage wasn’t going to work out when I realized I was more disappointed that we didn’t get to hang out that weekend than I was excited to get married. It wasn’t that I was interested in you, rather, I was sad to miss you. When hanging out with a friend you’ve never met in person and have known for less than a year is more important than your wedding, it’s not a good sign for your new marriage. In the end, I chose you anyway.
I looked forward to your calls every Friday afternoon while you were on your way to The Door. Those calls were so Seinfeld-esque in that they were always about nothing, but that laid the foundation of many conversations we’d have over the years—talking about nothing and still managing to talk about the important things in the mix.
In most ways, we are nothing alike. In other ways, we are completely the same. In true Taurus/Scorpio fashion, we are fire and ice, although we’ve been fire a lot more than we’ve been ice.
We know each other’s darkest secrets. And unlike anyone else, sharing them has always come with zero judgment or shame, but instead, a laugh of knowing exactly why we are telling each other.
I told you that I fell in love with you the day that you called me just to ask me what the name of the beer I recommended you try (it was Pyramid Snowcap, and yes, my strange memory for the weirdest details still functions well). It was because it was that day when I realized that I was more myself when you were around than I was with anyone else. I never felt the need to pretend to be someone else with you.
We just clicked from day one and it has always been the most free I have ever felt. I’ve spent 20 years learning how to show up in this world the way I have so easily shown up with you.
Over the years, we’ve shared too many laughs and beers to count. We’ve dropped everything to be there for one another. We’ve cried, we’ve cheered, we’ve mourned, we’ve watched countless hours of Seinfeld and Dodger games together. Alissa loves you like an uncle (and she says you still owe her $82).
I’m praying that it’s not yet time to say goodbye to you because to be honest, Kev…I’m not ready. We still have so many more memories to make.
This post was inspired by a prompt or theme from illuminate. This monthly membership was created by the editors of The Kindred Voice to encourage more people to write and share their stories.
Be sure to check out the other stories written on this month’s theme: Vulnerability
Being Vulnerable With My Body by Hannah Kewley
Quitting Cold Turkey by Mia Sutton
I Have Been Sick All My Life by Jennifer Brown
To The Women Working in Male-Dominated Fields by Christi Jeane
Anxiety Hangover by Christine Carpenter
Butterfly Wings by Megan McCoy Dellecese