And, Arthur, this isn’t a book. This is me and this is you and you were meant to see him. Once things were settled and he was confident in himself, then you would have been with him and known him.

I promise.

I thought there’d be time. There wasn’t any reason to think that there wouldn’t be time, but I stole him from you, because I was stupid. I stole every part of him from you and I lost him because I was stupid and now I’ll lose you.

And I’m a coward, so I didn’t tell you.

I didn’t want to lose you.

When you said I felt different, and I said I was, that was the closest I got to saying. But we were happy then and you were beautiful – we were beautiful – seemed it – and there hadn’t been anything beautiful for so long.

And I understood eighteen when you said it to me in the queue. You know I did.

And you understand me.

And this whole thing, it killed my father, left my mother without both of them and how would I tell you this and not hurt you, too.

And you were smiling today and you have his smile.

And I never didn’t love you, but I avoided it, I kept distracted, because that’s what I do, because I am a non-working human being.

And before this I always have kept distracted.

But I remembered you. I always remember you.

And this morning I saw you, with nothing in the way. I saw who you are and you saw me.

And now you know the rest of it.

And that I made you a book.

Because you can have this and hold it and you can look at it and see it looking back and where your hands are mine have been.

And I do love you.

And if you don’t want that, I understand.

But I do love you.

And there is nothing I can help or solve and I am wrong, a wrong person, but if it would please you I can give you this which is my voice to be with you, my mouth with your mouth and soft.

And you should have the story of a man who stands very still on a ship’s deck – broad wood under his feet: tiny shifts in it, gentle – and he watches an island city as it grows to meet him, bluepink in the first hour of the day. He is facing east and the new sun boils at the foot of every cross-street as he passes along the shore – it climbs the sky and is a fury of colours, a hunger, a beautiful rage between buildings that seem cleaner and better than they should be, perfect and eternal as dreams.

And this is beautiful and dreadful and the man is used to beautiful and dreadful things.

And windows gild and flare and are extinguished and the water burns, silvers, splits and then heals behind him, while quiet gulls kite above. There are no sounds except the calm of the slowing engines and the man’s thinking, the words in his head.

And when the man comes to land, walks on solid ground, the ocean will stay with him, will rock with him, and when he stands the world will roll, will dance, be an amazement. And this will make him feel that it isn’t impossible, that it isn’t completely impossible that he could be happy, that he could come home and live.

He could be happy. He could be loved.

He is loved.

You are loved.

If this is a spell and there is magic and everything that matters can be true, then you can be happy and be loved.

And if I was on solid ground and with you I would give you my hand if you wanted.

I would touch you.

I would touch you.

I would touch you.

I would touch you.

I would touch you.

I would touch you.

I would touch you.

This is the best of me.

But I’d give you my hand if you wanted.

I’d give you everything.