A whole year, you whispered, leaning over
My sleeping head: one year, of everything.
A year which has entirely been ours,
Belonging to us, as I belong to you.
And half-awake, I wondered at these words:
They drifted over me, as the tide at night
Draws slowly back over ancient, sleeping stones;
I dreamt of your wonderment, and then I said:
A year is everything; and is blissful nothing…
You seemed concerned, and so drew nearer still…
What is a year to me, even the last,
And sweetest year on the face of this brief earth,
When years shall be as nothing in between us.
I thank this year: I thank you for it, too.
And let these years drift through us, once and forever.
And let forever be what we drift through.
For Blair. It has been a year, my love: one brief, inconsequential, fleeting miracle of a year. It has passed by us, quietly and beautifully. We have had troubled times. We have had the most exquisite delights, too: often when something entirely unremarkable was happening, like when you fell asleep upon me on the sofa, or when we both realised how god-awful the horror film we were watching truly was. They may not seem like much at the time, but I count these little joys as blessings. And I thank you, profoundly and from the bottom of my heart, for each second of this year. I still cannot quite believe that I have chanced upon this happiness.
It’s been a good year. In some ways I am sad to see it pass. But then, this next year we’re heading into: I’m well up for that, as well. And the next. In fact, my love: bring on Forever.
Hold on tight, my darling. Forever’s nearly here.