(i) To the love of my life, wherever you are. I am writing to you to tell you that even before we met, we were already whole ourselves. I remember when I was sixteen, young and naïve, I used to think that we need another person’s warmth and embrace just to be whole. But later in life, when I managed to earn a few callouses on my fingers from writing and a few wrinkles on my face from working, I began to realize that we really don’t need the extra company just to feel good about ourselves. We can feel good about ourselves just on our own. We can be in love with just ourselves. To be in love with our flaws and imperfections is the most refine and highest salutation of acceptance of our dear lives.

(ii) Maybe the reason we haven’t met yet is because we need to find a few more other things, meet certain people, and experience great heights before we ever see ourselves tangled in sheets, sharing the same dreams, breathing the same air, loving the same soul that we have yet to know.

(iii) Are we ever going to meet? Or are we just going to be one of the hundreds of strangers passing by each other, never knowing that one of these strangers is the love of their lives?