The last page.

I’ve spent a year not saying this, and about ten minutes deciding to. Everything before this page was context; this is the part that matters.

You changed something ordinary into something I looked forward to, and you did it without trying and without knowing. That is a strange and generous thing to do to a person.

I’m not asking for a reply. I’m not asking you to feel anything. I only wanted the truth to exist somewhere outside my own head, written carefully, and given to you gently.