You are literally hours away from Miami.

And in a couple days, you’ll be back here. It feels like years ago that I dropped you off at the Waterfront. I’m glad you’re coming back because sometimes I feel like I’ve forgotten details about you and it really irritates me.

Like I miss your voice. It somehow doesn’t sound the same over a voice note. And I miss the way you smell. And being in your arms. I miss being in your arms the most.

When you hold me, I feel as if the entire universe has stopped and if I was stressed or anxious or tired before, it’s all immediately calm and peaceful.

I’m so incredibly stressed right now – I could use a minute of quiet with you.

I’m trying to take a minute now. It’s 1:34am and everyone is asleep. We’ve had the silliest day imaginable and we’re all exhausted. I do really need the sleep but I also need the peace so I’m taking it.

 I’m listening to one of my favourite albums ever, Tove Lo’s Queen of the Clouds.

The current track is called Paradise.

Said I want you for a million days

You say you want the same with me

With love for real without the lies

Is that what they call paradise?

I only ever realise it when I’m gone but my apartment has become my little safe space.

Even just one night away and I miss my bed and my candles and MY FREAKING DOGS. I wonder if Wilson is missing me. My needy little puppy.

Anyway, I’m trying to think of all the last things I want to write to you before you come home.

First, I’ve never been more panicked in my life than reading your message last wee about the car accident. The possibility of losing you when I was literally on the other side of the world was indescribable. I don’t think I even fully processed it until much later. Even now when I say it out loud, it seems made up.

You are my absolute favourite person in the entire world. You are in my head no matter what I do. Sometimes, I close my eyes for a second and I can almost feel you next to me.

It hurts and then I remember that I get to see you soon and have you with me. The idea that I could lose you is terrifying. I don’t know what my life would look like. Or how I’d go back. Meeting you changed everything, even me.

I also want to tell you that I love you. I hope you know how much. I hope that you know that when I tell you to be safe, what I mean is that I need you to be safe.

I was talking to Jose about you the other day. And after I recounted the events from the previous week, he says to me, “This Dan has a real hold on you, hey.”

And because I’m me and generally my go-to emotion is panic, I denied it in a way that very apparently denial. (I’m sure you can imagine.) After which he laughed and said, “Look at you, catching feelings of all kinds.”

It made me laugh because I immediately flashed back to having that conversation with Bianca, when she said to me, “Oh god, you’re starting to actually like him! You better not fall in love.”

Why can’t I ever just follow instruction? 😛

By the way, I was looking at these cottages out in Hogsback and one of them was literally on a cliff in a forest WITH A BATH TUB FOR TWO.

Also, it was like R2 000 a night but that’s not the point. Who needs to like, pay bills and buy food?

I got distracted. What was I saying? Oh right. Feelings. Yes, so many of them. Ugh.

I mostly can’t wait to talk to you, and hear all your long, boring stories. I hope your friends decide to like me so that we can do something all together. I mean, I don’t know why they don’t. I’m very likeable! Most of the time. Some of the time. Okay, mostly never. But still, they don’t know that. Just tell them that I am. Then by the time they figure out that I’m not, it’s too late and they already kind of like me. (It’s a trap.)

What if they never like me?! You can make new friends right? Like long-haired, somewhat alcoholic climbers must be dime a dozen? :’)

I got distracted again.

I truly haven’t had a connection with anyone like I do with you. And at almost 27, if that isn’t the saddest thing you ever heard … But it’s true. Every day that passes, it becomes more apparent. Even from so far away, and talking to you only a handful of times in the last few weeks, you’re the person I feel closest to.

This is going to sound strange but I feel sometimes like I’m in a whole new life. Like whatever I was doing before I met you was some strange faraway dream and I’ve woken up to you.

Speaking of waking up, I have to be up in like 4 hours so I better get some sleep. I love you so much, Daniel. I love you with every tiny inch of me.

Having you in my life has been an utter revelation.





As I write this, 2018 has quietly made its arrival. Outside, for the first time in weeks, it is pouring rain – glorious, thunderous rain. The kind of rain that creates the best soundtrack for making out in bed or something  … 😏

I spent a couple of minutes standing in the downpour, thinking of you, and of us, and what my wish for this year is. In the past, I’ve written wishes to my friends and family but I’ve never really come up with anything for myself.

So here’s what I’ve got:

I hope to live this year with a passion that is fierce and wild. A passion for creating, and growing, and loving, and being truly immersed in everything that I do. I hope to rediscover all the bits of me that I left behind.

I want to be inspired this year.
I want to write magic.
I want to dance more, and cook more, and spend more time in the forest with Wilson.
I want to take my time.

I want to go on as many adventures together as we can pack into one year.
I want to explore, and experience things with you – even things I’ve done before because I believe that having you by my side will change it.
I want to wake up to you, and go to sleep in your arms.
I think we’re on the edge of something explicitly wonderful and I can’t wait to live it.

What do you think?

I miss you, of course. But I am still happier than I’ve ever been. I love you. Happy New Year, and wherever you are, I hope you’re smiling.


I can promise you nothing feels like sleeping with your arm around me and your breath in my ear. Still, it’s comforting to know we sleep under the same moon, even if she’s so much older when she gets to me. I like to imagine she’s seen you sleeping and wants me to know you’re doing well.”
― Clementine von Radics, Mouthful of Forevers


Facebook tells me that it has been 44 minutes since you were last online. For the next two weeks, you will disappear into imagination.

What little I can imagine, of course. I have never sailed into fading light, or watched the shoreline disappear from sight. I can almost imagine the sway of the yacht through the waves; and how after a while it seems rather ordinary.

Back home, things are a little slower. Wilson, I think, is convinced that at any moment, I may walk out the door, never to be seen again. In his first year of life, he has experienced more people leaving than arriving and I think he is beginning to question that people ever do return.

The heat of the day hasn’t yet given way to the calm evening. I find this kind of weather particularly nostalgia-provoking and so, as I write, fragmented, random memories (mostly of you) float through my mind. Some return with a slightly sharper twinge than others. Like a second ago, a gentle breeze swirled momentarily through the room and I paused mid-sentence to indulge in the memory of walking hand-in-hand with you to Fat Cactus, last Friday.

I’ve decided to start this journal because I feel in some way as if I may contemplate all of life in your absence, and that this may turn out to be one of the most significant summers of my life. And so, I’m going to do my best to document it here.

Along with all the necessary whines and sulks that come with having your love sail away for 8 weeks.

My heartbeat has been very vocal about your leaving all day – even now it feels as if I’ve just come off running a marathon. But the rest of me has been in denial I think, and as I sit here, still for the first time today, and reflect on it all, I can feel the gap you’ve left behind in my home.

So quickly I’d settled into the routine of welcoming you home at the end of a day –.

In the last hour, I have spent every other second making mental notes of things to share with you; only to remind myself that you will only hear about them in two weeks when it will hardly matter that Wilson attempted to hunt a mosquito and dived straight into the side of a box.

Despite your ire at my constant phone checking, I must admit that scrolling through all our past messages and photos has been more comforting than I thought it would be. Something I am sure I will do countless times in the weeks to come.

But more than, I have scrolled through my own Facebook posts, from long before I had met you. Trying to remind myself of what life was like before you were here. What did I fill these evenings with? It’s not the same, of course. But still, those memories are so far away, I can barely pull them into the light of memory.

Even the night I met you is some distant, foggy thought with only vague twinklings of recall – that you hugged me, and wore a black jacket that you took off and put back on numerous times through the evening, and stared at me when you thought I may not notice, even though I can always feel your eyes on me.

Tuesday this week marked two months since I’d met you. 8 weeks.

When you return, you will have been long for the same amount of time that I’ve known you for as I write this.

Being with you has been effortless – neither of us trying too much, or thinking too hard. Truly effortless. In a way that nothing else has ever been.

With you, I feel an ease and lightness that I had forgotten I could have. It’s hard to put into words how close we have grown in the short time we’ve known each other. I’m sure, positive even, that to many people it must appear bizarre. It feels that way for me too.

In hindsight, I think it was precisely because I wasn’t trying with you that everything seemed to work. Wasn’t trying to be what I thought was more attractive. Wasn’t looking for anything other than what was in front of me.

And in this profound connection, I have made a best friend.

I love you. I could probably write the night away but I’ll stop here.

Sail safe.