My Beloved Alien Friend

I remember you.

I remember the day we met so clearly, so easily. I remember feeling comfortable with you right there and then and that there was an inexplicable trust. Not a thing that came easy to me in those days, not that I would have ever admitted that.

I remember you, the you whose demons were only young and small back then. 

I remember nights of talking, dancing bacon, days of maths and the knowledge that I would forevermore call you my dear, beloved friend. I was very right about that, by the way. That is still what I call you in my heart, it never changed.

I love you, my alien friend, so much. 

I used to tell everyone who asked, you were the most decent person I’ve ever met. That was before I learnt to use my words, though. It is true, you are incredibly decent. But what I could not put in words, simply because I didn’t have those words back then, is this:

You are a wonderful, lovely man, with a deeply feeling heart and a yearning soul. You are good. You are a beautiful human being. 

The size of your demons does not change that. The pool you’re drowning them in does not change that either.

I remember stories of slippers and canes, stories of pranks and games and stories of dreams and castles in the sky. 

I remember the only wing man I ever had.

I remember a man that sends home more than he can afford. Whether they know it or not, they are lucky to have you.

I remember my heart breaking, watching you drown your demons. 

I am so sorry my friend. So sorry that I did not know how to deal with that. 

I don’t regret staying away, it was what was right for me, but I do regret that when I did so, I hadn’t found the words and the courage yet to tell you why.

To tell you, you were drowning yourself, your beautiful, gorgeous self right alongside those demons and I could not stand and watch. There was too much spillage.

To tell you that I love you though, to tell you that my distance is no anger, no malice, no punishment. To tell you that I will be your friend and that I am hoping that one day you empty the pool, pick out those demons and face them. To tell you I hope you would remember me when that day comes and forgive me for my wordlessness.

~~~~~~~~~

Tomorrow, you are moving. Actually and truly taking a big and scary step. I am so so so proud of you. There is hope in deliberate movement. Oh, there is so much hope, so much potential, so much possibility. 

So I send with you this letter to carry my love, hope, courage and wishes for you. 

Maybe, just maybe, you will send one back one day. A letter that is. 

With love,

S