I found your necklace the other day. It was napping on the bathroom sink with the toothbrush and the comb. It hadn't caught my glance in the night, but when the sunrise bent its beams toward the gemstone's faces, I watched it unfold it's splendor like a Phoenix from ash.
it isn't often that I get a reminder of those moments only you and I know of. After all this time, I still keep you hidden in places I forget. Just today, I was cleaning the bookshelf and I found letters you sent while you were in Cambodia. There was even one where you packed a little clipping of a rice plant in a bubble mailer so I could feel and smell what it was like. That was a special kind of love I hadn't known before, and the electricity of it all still puzzles me.
You haven't heard from me because I am changing, and in the midst of changing I've forgotten who I am and what is important. It wasn't fair of me to give us an expiration date. I drew the line and told you to prepare yourself for what was inevitable. I wasn't sure how serious I was until you insisted that the line exists. And since that point I've yet to fulfill my promise of letting you in.
I cannot divulge everything at once. Some things take months to explain and at this rate I'm sure it will take even longer. I admit that being so miserly with your patience is not fair to you, but please trust my saying that when the time is right, you will understand why I am not so quick to say what it is that troubles me.