I remember, today you asked me how I could ever love you, the scientist I was. I remember how I responded also. I froze, a panicked look on my face and cracked a witty comback, hoping that you wouldn’t notice. But you did. I know you did, otherwise, why else would you have turned away from me?
And I can’t bear the thought of losing you again. Sometimes, I feel as if this whole adventure is pointless, as if love is a farce and nothing I do or say amounts to anything in this life. And I get down and I just want to cry and cry and cry, as if I could dissolve in my tears and melt away in the oceans. But then I think of you and suddenly everything seems okay. Yes, I know it seems clichéd, and you’re probably mentally chiding me, already correcting my word usage. You always were the poet. But I can’t help myself! I love you.
I love the way you can make me feel helpless. You really were the stronger one of both of us. Yes, I pretended to be the stronger one, but my strength lies in tearing us apart. You’re the only one who kept us together, and I admit that. How couldn’t I have seen that before? When I protested in my shrill voice that you were being cruel and prudish, you simply listened and then, after all my insults, gave me a hug. And how helpless I felt! How stupid! I admit, I almost fell down and cried. But I stayed strong. And why? Because of you.
I love you.
I remember reading in a science magazine that scientists studying Creation were debating whether our universe would just expand forever or collapse on itself and restart anew. At the time, I had hoped that we would expand forever so that we could remain intact, together in the dying stars for all of eternity, but now I see that I am wrong. Things change, but they start again, always. They grow and grow until they can’t grow anymore and then they stop – and grow some more. I don’t know why I didn’t see this before, that things change, that the universe is a living thing, but I didn’t. Are you ashamed of me?
I don’t know. It’s funny that I can appear to be so intelligent, so full of myself, and yet the real answer of my going into science is because I don’t know. I don’t know anything. And in a way, I don’t know how to love. I know it’s silly and even bizarre. You’re probably laughing at this letter – if you can call it that. But what I do know is that things can change, and if the universe can change, then I can change as well. But it just takes time. And I need you to be patient, especially now. And in turn, I’ll try harder. We’ll work it through together somehow, I promise.
