It's been many months since we first met, online. You knew about my 'secret' right from the beginning, yet it didn't frighten you. We talked many times afterwards, both online and via the phone until we didn't communicate for a while. You were the one to call me to get back into contact. Then suddenly by the end of last year you came to visit me in real life. It was both an exciting and unnerving prospect, as I had no idea how it'd be like to see you for once not captured by a camera image. Nor did I really know whether we'd really like each other.
You cared enough about me at least to insist on accompanying me to the hospital to support me. I didn't know whether I'd want you to get involved that far, but I couldn't find a reason to disagree.
I keep recalling fond memories of the two of us meowing at each other the entire time, much to the annoyance of Pieter. I remember your softness as I embraced you. You understood my pain as something you told me triggered my PTSD, something which still haunts my thoughts today, also because I still don't feel that I fully understand you. I keep seeing your face as you were lying asleep next to me.
I won't claim any feelings of love or affection. I do however feel that for those few days we spent together you did make me feel happy. It saddens me that I don't have the courage to contact you. I know you are dealing with your own issues and won't let others support you with it, or even talk about it. You are also surrounded by friends who are always there by you, while I'm too weak to even deal with my own situation. I think you'll be fine.
Perhaps we'll see each other again some day... else I'll at least have one happy memory to accompany me to the last moments of my life.