"I talk to you as I talk to my own soul," he said, turning me to face him. He reached up and cupped my cheek, fingers light on my temple. "And Sassenach," he whispered, "Your face is my heart".

I can never compose to literate the intensity of thoughts evoked, but hoping this would do, I'll tell you, "what hurts the most was to realise how greatly I've hurt you, one I love". I'll do my best to be strong, so that you'll never have to be weak alone; I'll do my best to keep my two feet together sturdy onto the ground, so that I will be the gravity that holds you from floating into disillusions; I'll love you more than three words could ever paint pictures of pretty skies and rainbows, so that heart of yours will never love alone. I will not mark a single quiet promise to you. I am the promise itself. And as long as you live to be the faith that I seek the light from, I will be it.

I deeply apologise for not voicing out the words as often as I feel them or express it aloud the constant missing that has been felt this whole time, because I do. And maybe, I'm a bigger blockhead at demolishing defences than you are. I'm not ready to risk everything to a plunge cave justifying with my worldly reasons, but I know that you love me, enough to make time a motivating factor, in optimistic hope that these brick walls don't stand this stubborn as each loving day passes.

For everything, the good and the not-so-goods, I am thankful and I love you true.