I love you

I could be weeks, days, maybe even moments from the death of us all. I could be sending this letter as my own contribution to my obituary. Things are different now - the end seems to loom over us in a way that is more obvious than before. It's not a blip in time, not a lightning strike that we can forget about, not a storm we can take shelter from. It lingers, hangs on all of our shoulders. But, what I have learned from my time here is that the human experience is two things - pain and love. Yes, the pain is unspoken, but it's heavy, it's palpable like a fog that fills the room. But, when death constantly stares us in the face, when we have to look it straight in the eyes every day, it becomes nothing. It becomes nothing, but a reminder to say "I love you" before you leave. We love harder now. It's not a hesitant thing like it used to be. Love hits us all at once, as it always has - the only difference is that we don't run from it. We run towards it. Death has to be acknowledged every day, but so does life. The only thing that is more human, more alive, than pain, is love.

I might not make it back from this vacation, and if not, I want my last words to be these: I love you, and I'm not afraid to say it.