“I want to know everything about you, Iris. I want to know your hopes and your dreams. I want to know what irritates you and what makes you smile and what makes you laugh and what you long for most in this world. But perhaps even more than that … I want you to know who I am. If you could see me right now as I type this … you would smile. No, you’d probably laugh. To see how badly my hands are shaking, because I want to get this right. I’ve wanted to get it right for weeks now, but the truth is I didn’t know how and I’m worried what you might think. It’s odd, how quickly life can change, isn’t it? How one little thing like typing a letter can open a door you never saw. A transcendent connection. A divine threshold. But if there’s anything I can should say in this moment—when my heart is beating wildly in my chest and I would beg you to come and tame it—is this: your letters have been a light for me to follow. Your words? A sublime feast that fed me on days when I was starving. I love you, Iris. And I want you to see me. I want you to know me. Through the smoke and the firelight and kilometers that once dwelled between us. Do you see me?”

















