W

My dearest Warren,

We met when I couldn’t walk. I remember vividly a photo of you in the desert. There was a strange magnetism about you I couldn’t quite grasp. Talking to you felt effortless, instinctive, and electric. I didn’t realize then how deeply you would root yourself in my life, or how long you’d stay. I’ve spent too long uncertain of how long anything would last, shaped by people I once trusted, connections where I was used, hurt, or never truly valued. It left me bracing for endings, never fully believing something could stay. But you… you were different from the very beginning. Getting to know you felt like opening a book that instantly captures you, the kind that pulls you in from the first page, stirring something deep, impossible to ignore, and far too meaningful to ever put down...

I didn’t feel that sudden rush I’ve felt before when someone first catches my attention. With you, it was quieter… softer. Something that slowly found its way in, like sunlight stretching across a room, gentle but impossible to ignore. And now it has grown into something where I just want you in my days, in all the small, meaningful ways. I think about what it would be like to be somewhere far away from everything with you, just us, completely alone in nature. Watching the rain fall in silence, your hand resting in mine, cooking something warm and nourishing together, laughing softly, stealing little glances. Lying side by side under the open sky, talking about nothing and everything, feeling completely at peace. It is the small moments I crave with you, the quiet intimacy, the stillness, the feeling of being fully present with someone who feels like home. There is a confession that lingers at the edge of me, restless and unspoken. I love you. Not gently, not in passing, but in a way that consumes the quiet corners of my mind, that hums beneath my skin like something inevitable. I want to drape you in it, this love of mine, in every possible way, until it becomes something you can feel even in my absence. And yet I hesitate, wondering if you would welcome it, or if it would be too much, too deep, too consuming in its devotion. I have wandered too long in solitude, giving my heart to hollow places and fleeting shadows that could never hold it. I have wasted hours and months lost in fragile fantasies, loving the idea of what could be rather than something real enough to touch.

You feel like something pulled from a dream I never quite believed in, something both haunting and certain. If I placed my heart in your hands, unguarded and unending, would you hold it close, or would it become just another quiet echo fading into the spaces where unchosen love disappears? Warren, there is something about you I keep returning to in my mind, like a quiet truth I cannot look away from. You are one of the most compassionate people I have ever known, selfless in a way that feels rare in this world, as if you give without ever needing to be seen for it. There is a humility in you that does not come from lack, but from depth, from knowing who you are without needing to announce it. You are strong in ways that feel almost impossible to articulate, emotionally, spiritually, and beyond that, in places I do not yet have language for. And somehow, you are also one of the most intelligent minds I have encountered, the kind that observes everything, understands more than it says, and still chooses gentleness. I think of how you have moved through the world, through film sets, influential circles, spaces where people often chase visibility, and yet you chose something else. You chose the shadows, not as absence, but as refuge, as perspective, as truth. And I understand that choice more than I should, because I think I too would retreat from the noise if I had stood where you have stood. That is one of the things I admire most about you, your refusal to be consumed by visibility.

Even your love feels like you. When you kiss, it is not simple, not surface level or uncertain. It is presence. It is passion. It is a kind of intensity that lingers and makes me crave it again and again. There is something almost haunting about you, Warren, not in a frightening way, but in the way certain stories stay with you long after they end, like a beautiful curse one would willingly carry just to understand it more deeply. I find myself standing in that space between awe and surrender, realizing I do not just admire you, I am in some quiet and irreversible way drawn to you like a story I would follow even into the dark. Yours through this breath of time, and into whatever remains when it ends, Victoria