If the Universe wills it, I know you will understand why I must be both bitter and sweet in writing you. I had little spirituality until you entered my life and for your introduction of prayer into it I will be forever grateful. My anger has too often been directed at you, but I feel we are both big flakes that could warm up to a day-planner or commit to a sort of pragmatic prayer blessing one another. I will forever feel that pain of your loss last November, and I have the same hole in my heart as you do in yours. I wish you had more time for me but realize how much you have invested over these many years. Sometimes your inconsistency represents you in the worst light, but no matter—you, dearest, have always kept me warm and shown me the way.
I fear you will travel again, soon, and leave me here in my usual bind. I wish I could kiss you and tell you the time. You are the most esoteric woman, so nomadic and with mystical doubt, ready to show me, if I will listen, how to go about. Your desert is not where your womb now lays and I know you will have young ones to help you know what to say. Please, keep the light on for me.