Of all the syllables forming words forming sentences forming tangible manifestations of the variegated emotions in our hearts, unuttered, never to have experienced the exhilaration of dancing amid the reverberations in the air, and to have repeatedly been halted midway in their paths and left lingering in the dark recesses of pregnant throats; imagine the difference it would make to the lives of others, and our own, should these hitherto unspoken words be unveiled to us:
I love you and I shall cease to be afraid to tell you, even if it means unduly exposing my acute vulnerability that could wound me irrevocably, because we only have this one life and if my heart has to be battered and indelibly marked to be able to have experienced love in all its rawness and honesty, then here I offer my unconcealed heart.
I am sorry for all the times I was half-absent while present, not appreciating your being beside me, not fully listening as you shared the triumphs and trials of your day with me, and instead, dividing my attention between you and some other distraction despite being aware of my increasingly warped priorities, for what could possibly be more important to me than you?
Thank you for all that you have so selflessly sacrificed in your life; you embody the notion of an unconditional love of which we oftentimes feel undeserving. The late nights tolled and the gestures of love may have passed silently and seemingly unnoticed, but know that an immense gratitude and a deep appreciation fill our hearts and one day, I hope to do for you what you have us.
Think of all the times we have (sub)consciously chosen to deny the actualisation of the innate power of our words on the basis of fragile assumptions. We assume that our feelings are known to the other without them having been expressed; we assume the insignificance of relating these emotions, undermining their intrinsic value; most of all, we lay claim to the inopportuneness of time and believe there to always be some other, better time in the future avail to us. And yet, there exists no better time than this present moment, for in an instant we would have lost this very moment, and, possibly and perhaps melodramatically, the person to whom our affections are bound or even our very selves.
We all begin by taking small, perceptible steps.
– Agnes Chew