Dear Luke,
Sunset turned the cove into gold this evening, and I thought of you. I know you must hate me. And I don’t mean to open old wounds by writing. But stepping out the door, my heart exclaimed, “I wish Luke were here to see this!” Yet, even as longing filled me, I remembered your voice, telling me the island would wait. And I realized I’m happier here without you.
Congratulations on the merger. I saw an article about it the other day, and I now understand your anger when I refused to postpone. The red crab migration will begin any day now. (I suppose we both have things to confess.) Google it, watch a NatGeo film, and you can see what you’ll miss. Still, that doesn’t fully explain my decision, or those trumpeting tears you teased me about.
Part of me wants to forgive you, to try again, knowing we couldn’t control the timing of these conflicting events. But it should never have become a conflict. I booked this trip for us seven months ago. You gave your firm more than enough notice, and had time to shift resources about to cover your work. If you couldn’t get free for this, how will you ever choose us over corporate need?
Look, I admit, you were right: Christmas Island would still be here, even had we waited. And we might have caught the crabs. But I could not wait. Elephants never just exist. We need to live. While you might thrive, dealing and drafting in your office, I need golden sunsets and crimson crabs.
So I sit on my balcony, letting trade winds cool my skin. I feel the crash of the waves like infrasounds in my bones. And I wonder, do you wish I were there? Or, maybe, we each finally know where we belong.
Love,
Ellis