My dear Ariana,

That day I drew blood, your blood. Left with an entry wound and exit wound, with nothing in between but thoughts of me, you seemed to have no choice but to love me right there in the dark within the white chalk outline of your silhouette. There, with my echo bouncing of your bones and my reflection on the insides of your eyelids, you were trapped in a slideshow Ariana, blinking away between what is and all that might have been.

Then, years later when we suddenly met again, I looked like nothing you remembered, years older, decades even. And in that same glance I found reflected what I had left behind: the promise of so many lives I could have lived, the lives lived with you.

We lived all over the world, had any number of children. We were poets, businessmen, doctors and monks. Some were short lived and adventurous, others long and bleak; but whether we died heroically or slipped into mediocrity, we were always together Ariana, never alone. And with that echo came a shadow as I realized I left myself as much as I left you, that day I drew your blood, the day I drew it all.

Now, many crime scenes later with scars of my own, I’ve learned nobody ever leaves the other. We stay behind to live parallel lives in their world, just as they live on in ours as the person we remember them to be. Then when these two worlds meet again, they annihilate each other like matter and anti-matter do, for dreams dreamt together must become reality.

So Ariana, would you meet with me again? Together we would create this reality, home only to whom you and I have changed into. With no more need for might-have-beens, everything would just be. You see, we can never ever leave each other - we can only leave ourself behind. We can however, replace oneself in the other. I’m here to make sure my replacement is the best me I can be.

If you let me,
Henry