To the One I Choose, Again and Again

 

 Three hours, nine minutes, and forty-eight seconds...

 

That's the call timer on my phone as I start typing this. By the time I finish writing, I wonder how much more of tonight we'll have spent together on this call. Here, it is still July 27th, while for you, July 28th has already begun. Different days, different skies, and yet we are still sharing the same moment.

You're beginning to fall asleep. It's already dawn on your side of the world, while thousands of kilometres away, it's five minutes before half past eight in the evening. It feels like the right time for my mind to write all of this.

Can you hear the sound of my typing? Probably not. Your breathing has become steady. I think you've already fallen asleep.

I'm grateful for what we have together, even though I have no idea when or how it all began. Honestly, I don't know. We just finished another long debate about exactly that, for what feels like the hundredth time. It always follows the same pattern: I bring it up, you explain, I insist, you become stubborn, and then, somehow, I end up crying.

Believe me, it's only because I miss you. So much!

As for this relationship, I don't really care anymore how it started or when it began. I only hope it ends the way we've always imagined it would.

Maybe ever since the end of my last long relationship, I've been afraid of starting over. I tried, but every attempt ended after only a short time. Eventually, I decided not to be in a relationship with anyone at all. I often avoided getting close to people or, unfortunately, sometimes treated it all as nothing more than a joke.

But over time, I realised I had become more afraid of myself than of anyone else. I became incredibly good at hiding things; my sadness and my happiness, my pride and my worries, my fear and my courage. Little by little, I became emotionally flat, someone who simply existed without really knowing how to awaken her own feelings anymore. I couldn't even cry, not when I was alone, and not when I was with other people. I became so good at holding everything inside that, at the same time, life kept throwing more emotional chaos my way. And like someone who had lost her way, I didn't know what to do anymore.

 

 Then you came.

You, with everything that makes you who you are.

 

Slowly, you brought all those feelings back to life. You helped me to remember how my emotions used to respond to the world around me. Suddenly, I recognised feelings I thought I'd lost forever. I remembered what anger felt like. I remembered nervousness and fear. I became aware again of how my heart could leap with joy. And somehow, I even learned to appreciate the quiet beauty of feeling sadness again.

Before I realised it, you had become the person who has seen me cry more than anyone else in my entire life. Not because you caused those tears but because somehow you became the place where I felt safest to cry.

 

You made me realise how comforting it can be to cry.

For that, I am deeply grateful. Truly.

 

It's true that we aren't always okay. We've had our misunderstandings. We've argued. We've hurt each other, sometimes without meaning to. But somehow, we always choose to repair instead of walk away. I keep trying to be the best version of myself I can be, and I know you're doing the same. To me, a good relationship isn't one without problems. It's one where both people are willing to keep growing and becoming better.

So let's keep trying to become better, the best versions of ourselves we can be.

And maybe one day, somewhere in the future, you'll come across this piece of writing. And when you do, I want you to know how thankful I am for this relationship.

Thank you for choosing to stay, again and again, even when staying asked more of us than leaving ever would. And even though thousands of kilometres separate us now. Sumba - Indonesia, and Liverpool - UK, are farther apart than I ever imagined I could hold for someone I love.

But look at us.

I'm almost finished here and almost home. Soon, there won't be thousands of kilometres between us anymore.

And every random conversation, every pointless story, every argument we've had has only made me love you more and more. I know it isn't easy being you in this relationship. Having to deal with me, the version of me that is probably not as strong or as independent as the woman you once admired. Maybe you've wondered what happened to her. Maybe you've even regretted discovering that I'm more often the emotional woman who complains, cries, and seeks comfort from you.

But I want you to know why. It's because I've finally realised that you have become the safest place for me, for every part of who I am, every feeling I carry, every version of myself. For every imperfect part of who I am.

So don't be surprised if, one moment, you see me like a little child jumping up and down with excitement, or crying uncontrollably, or like a teenager throwing a tantrum for no obvious reason, or even like a child who doesn't know what she wants.

You should know this: you are the first man I've ever allowed to see that side of me. The side I've never shown to anyone else. 

I feel safe with you. So no matter how angry you are with me...

Please stay. Please stay. 

 

Let's keep walking this journey together.

Let's keep learning.

Let's keep growing.

Let's hold on with all the strength we have, until the very end.

 

Once again, thank you for choosing us, every single day.

And sorry for the moments that still leave you frustrated. I know I don't always make loving me easy, but thank you for staying, for being patient, and for continuing to choose us even on the difficult days.

 

 

So, happy 34th birthday, dear.   

I love you.

More than words could ever say.

  

 

With love,

Diana.

 

.........................................................................

 

 

(Shit, I honestly don't know how to express this in the beautiful ways other couples might. I don't know how to make special gestures or find the perfect words. But this is what I can give you: these words, this little piece of my heart.) 

 

 

The call timer now shows five hours, seven minutes, and twenty-eight seconds, and it is still counting.

I started this letter with a number, and I end it with another. Somewhere between those two numbers, I wrote everything I wanted you to know, AW.

And even after these words come to an end, our call continues.