Hatred never ceases by hatred, but by love alone is healed

The more time that passes, the more I see through the pain and ugliness (which was not insignificant) to the things that remain. The way I changed and the things you taught me. The good things. The marks of love that aren’t scars.

And even though I don’t write this for you, I write it nonetheless. Because hatred never ceases by hatred. Because I want to chronicle the beauty. Because I want to thank you.

For the aversion to things that gather dust. For packing light. For minimalism.

For music with words: The National, and Ryan Adams, and Tallest Man on Earth, and John Legend.

For eye contact during intimacy. For never going to bed on an argument. For always saying goodnight.

For telling me to hold my power. To stop apologising. To pander less.

For showing me it was possible to never get bored of someone. That such relationships exist. That I should settle for nothing less.

For the joy, and terror, and challenge, and boredom, and sweet bliss of parenting. It may be the only experience of motherhood I have.

And the small things: for teaching me how to take a corner at speed, use cruise control to avoid a speeding fine, edit my own self tests, deal with shitty clients, negotiate a salary.

And above all…

For believing in my ability to make a living as a writer.
For pushing me through my own wall of fear.
For giving me this greatest gift. It changed my life.

And despite the cool touch of disappointment and regret that lingers, for all of this, I thank you.