Dear You,
I am writing this with the hope you will never get to read it before my death. I have known you for over a year now, and I often find myself thinking back on the days when I used to look at you from a distance. You where quiet, shy, spoilt, lonely, independent and appealing. I also remember myself always overdoing it with words, actions and smss. Then we got closer, 11 months ago, and there started my mad rollercoaster ride.
You pissed me off a million times, confused me a million others and made me cry rivers and rivers. It was though, I admit it, and it still is. But today I realize how you helped me grow up and mature. You taught me how to love you, and you showed me the real value of simple gestures. I had to learn how to count to 1000,000 before I blow my top. You taught me the softness of a touch and the harshness of a pinch. You taught me how to draw, and even though you are so good at it, you still find things to praise in my simple, sketchy drawings. You listen and listen and listen to my endless chatter and taught me how to listen too, to your silence. You taught me how to drive, let me get behind your steering wheel; let me overheat your car. I savoured the stars with you, and the smell of the sea, and the sound of the boats floating, but also the mosquito bites while drunk. I shared my greatest secret with you, and you didn't make it weigh. You wanted me to participate in your journey as an artist and professional, and you value my opinions more than any other. You taught me how to admit when I'm wrong, and you ALWAYS know when I'm lying. We shared the most delicious white chocolate cheese cake ever, and fought over our first ever fried ice-cream and baci cake. You want me always walking in front, and you always make sure I don't get under any cars, be it with some nasty comment, a firm order or a gentle tug. You hugged me when I cried because I thought I was disappointing you... and deep down I know you trust my driving, even though you give me such a hard time.
...
Love,
Christine
