“Why don’t you write about the happy things, the good moments, the deep late-night talks, the moments we cry of laughter, the beautiful songs we listen to together, the I love you’s we share, our honeymoon phase that never ended, how you fall asleep while talking to me, our first kiss that still gives you butterflies? Write about that!
Write about the days we couldn’t stop talking and stayed up all night! Write how you tear up whenever I kiss your forehead! Write about how the first time you told me you loved me you couldn’t stop saying it! Where are the words for all our happiness?
Why don’t you write about the nickname I gave you, the time I took you to my father’s grave, the tears we shared talking about our childhood, the promises we made to each other and still have not broken! Write about the time you cried in happiness when we finished painting our house!
Write about the perfect coffee I make you in the morning! How I make sure it has the perfect combination of milk and coffee just the way you like it! Write about how I never forget how much sugar you want in it!
Write about how I don’t stop talking about you to everyone I meet! Count how many times a day you say my name and how you never forget to add ‘ዬ’ to it!
Write how you obsess over our anniversary and celebrate it like it’s our very last! Why don’t you write about the happy things?” He takes a deep breath.
“Are you done?” I ask him. He slowly nods yes. I continue and tell him…
“I don’t write about it because I’m tired. I’m tired of all the endings, all of the beginnings and the hoping and the dreaming and the wondering. I’m tired of romanticizing love only for it to be taken away at some point. I am tired of all of the happiness, and then all of the sudden uncertainty and heartbreak. I know how we will end. And I rather get ready for the tragedy by writing about it than drown myself in hope.”