(no subject)
When I think of how much time with you I lost, out of fear or because I knew- or thought- there were lines you wouldn't be ready to cross, I can't help but chastise myself a little. That I might have woken to your face beside me all those dusty days in Asia Minor, or that I might at least have confided in you when I was confused and conflicted and wouldn't trust even you, back in school-- my motives may have been sound enough, but I was a fool not to try. And now when you know all that I concealed from you, now that you love me, there is no time. Now we have wives and soon we'll have children, and now we have work to be done by day and night, and I miss you.
I have never truly loved anyone else. No one else feels so right in my arms. You give me such strength and such joy. I do not think that there is anything I would not do for you, if you asked it. I think sometimes that I don't tell you enough, or don't show you enough, that somehow you don't know how much I love you. Words fail me and it seems I can only tell you with my hands and my mouth; I can only tell you on crisp white sheets. I keep crisp white sheets on the bed at the flat, even if they're rarely used. It's enough to have them there waiting for you, as I am.
I love you. You know that I am yours, as wholly as you ever want me. I was slow, and I was a fool, but I trust you now with everything I am. I miss you. You are all I ever need.