On my last day in Osaka, I went to see The Odyssey.

I was deeply moved by it. The beauty of the cinematography, the music, the weight of the story. And above all, by her loyalty. She waited seven years for her husband, without knowing where he was, without receiving any news from him at all.

Who wouldn't want to be loved like that?

But it is a fantasy. A film. And when the lights came back on, reality was still waiting for me.

Then I wondered whether I should wait years for you. And, strangely enough, I realised I had already made my decision. I would.

Not because you promised to return. You didn't. There would be no letters, no messages, no certainty, not even a sign that you remembered me. Still, some foolish part of me had already decided to wait.

You are probably living the best days of your life now. And I am glad, truly. I hope you are happy.

As for me, I feel lost. I cannot see very far ahead anymore.

I don't know when I will stop carrying you in my heart.

Perhaps one day I will find out that you are with someone else. Maybe you already are. Perhaps that is the last thing I am waiting for: some final truth painful enough to finally kill this longing for good.

I wasn't missing anything before you. Now I am missing you.

What I most want is what I most can't have, and what I most can't have is what I already had and lost. Which is you. For a moment. I wish that moment had lasted longer.

What I am holding onto now is a mystery, even to me. Perhaps it is a lie I choose to tell myself. Perhaps it is a dream I am simply not ready to wake from.

I am tired. I miss you, Emma. But I don't want to miss you anymore.

I want to forget you. To erase the shape of you from my mind, from my heart, from all the places where you have made yourself at home.

I once thought this would be like every other time. I would eventually move on. Time would do what it always does. The feelings would fade, and one morning I would wake up and realise I no longer cared.

It seems I was wrong. Deeply wrong.

Perhaps the older we become, the rarer it is to love someone with that kind of innocence. And after so many years, I felt something pure again when I was with you.

Perhaps that is why losing you hurts so much. Perhaps this is simply the price of having felt something beautiful.

I hope you are well. Healthy. Happy.

And if it is all right, I think I will keep you in my heart a little longer. Not forever. Just until one day, quietly and without even noticing, I can no longer remember exactly who you were to me.

Or perhaps, more mercifully, who I was when I loved you.