I’m sorry, Miranda. I know you’ll be angry with me when you wake up, but right now I just don’t care. Like I told Peggy, I’m just not strong enough to let you go.
I’m not strong enough to live the rest of my life without your presence in it.
Don’t ask me when that happened, because I honestly couldn’t tell you. I didn’t realize it until the moment you told me not to bring the cloth to you. Before that I’d never faced the possibility of losing you. Even standing over the Miranda River gorge wondering why you felt compelled to jump, it was never real. Because I knew there had to be another explanation. And there was.
I need you, Miranda. I haven’t exactly figured out the nature of that need, yet, but I need you to be here when I solve that particular mystery.
I need to see that rare, beautiful smile you almost never show. I need to find myself looking for a way to inspire it. I need the feeling of bewildered bemusement I feel every time your amazing mind starts to express itself in words that are beyond me. I need every one of those odd little quirks of yours. I need the friend who knows me so well she can anticipate my thoughts before even I know them, the one who is still a mystery to me after almost two and a half years.
And most of all, I need the selfless heart that was willing to sacrifice itself for the lives of strangers. I need it–I need you–to teach me how to be so selfless.
But for the moment you’ll just have to forgive my selfishness and come back to me.
Because I’m not strong enough to let you go.