Dear Thiago, I think you know

You’re the only one, of all the people, who suspected you will be written about enough to tell me you don’t want it done.

There were people who assumed they would be, and in laughing texts told me to show them. They were excited for it.

You were always wary. I don’t think you could have ever imagined what I would say. It would shock and delight you, in ways you do not understand.

I think you knew.

I think you always knew.

You know that it all was more than the world, and you know that I had it in me, this more than the world, and if it had to come out in this way because I couldn’t keep it inside me, what would it be about? Why wouldn’t it be about you? What else is this big, that it is bigger than the world?

What else is there like that, that you have felt or that you think I have felt?

You knew what I meant when I looked at you, and that what we had was not articulable. You could not ever say it. Why not it be me who tries?

Do you hate yourself so much, that when you look at my wonder, you have to stab this part that knows it has something to do with you?