March comes in like a lion. That’s how the saying goes, at least. But this March felt like a stormy hurricane that never returned to sea. Do you know why? You must have a guess. Because you left in March, Panthea. As you left, my heart did leave with you. For when will you return? My mother tells me that you plan to stay three months in London. Is this true? Will letters suffice as a replacement for what my heart feels only seeing you will satisfy? Panthea, all those questions I have for you. As I ask each one, I begin to bring fresh sadness to my chest. For Panthea, I did not mean for us to be separated like this. So far away, where you live now. Remember when we used to walk along the lake and talk of the sunset? I loved those moments; by the lake, in the grass, laying on our backs, our hearts and our eyes turned toward the sun. Panthea it was there, by the lake, that I realized that you are truly an undiscovered treasure. Everything, eyes, nose, heart, lips, mind. Everything is lovely. Panthea, when I whispered your name into your hair, it was as if I had said “I love you”. For this time and space has made me realize I do in fact love you. Dearest Panthea, winner of my heart, please do not hear urgency in my words. Hear only the softest, gentle plea as I humble myself to your great magnanimous heart. I love you, Panthea. I know this now truer than any moment. In the stillness, I realized you are the missing movement of my heart beat. In the quiet, I long for your head against my shoulder. Panthea, this time, this distance, it hurts me greatly for I wish to be joined again. I wish to be catching your hand in mine as we walk around the lake.
Dearest Panthea, Will you not come back?
Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash