My dearest Angelica,
I'm writing you because I am compelled. By what, I cannot say.
I'm drawn by regret. All past misdeeds and all those yet to come. All committed by me. Only me.
Neither religion nor any court on this earth can absolve or judge me.
My only hope lies in you.
I would very much like to commit myself to loving you completely.
If I can do that, and do it right, I know that I can find some semblance of peace.
Of resolve.
I am not looking for forgiveness. Nor to wipe the sins from my soul.
But I heard the most amazing thing. Trees do not heal their wounds.
The scars they bear stay with them their entire lives. Since there is no means of repairing the wound, they simply grow around them.
So I shall attempt to grow around my wounds, instead of growing the scars that remain.
Help me if you can.
For yours is the greater burden: letting me love you.
If you cannot, do me know. That I may grow around yet another wound.
Yours,
If you'll have me.
T.
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