We were about to take off on our trip to Greece. It was sunny out. I think. You know my memory isn't all that good. But I remembered that you would always message your loved ones before the plane took off. A habit you developed to make sure that they knew you loved them, even if you didn't land safely.

I thought about that. I wondered what would happen if we knew the plane was going down, and that we weren't going to make it. I started picturing it. The plane would be shaking horribly. Our seatbelts would tighten. The plane would be quiet at first — all of us holding our breaths together in one extended pause. Then, somebody would cry, ever so softly. Or maybe we would start shouting, all at once, as loudly as we could as if it would fight off what was happening. But whatever we did, we would all eventually understand that nothing we did would change our remaining minutes.

After that happened, I wondered, what would be worth doing? What could I even realistically do in the minutes I had left before everything went blank forever? You were sitting in the seat in front of me. All I could think of was reaching out, holding your hand, and telling you that I loved you. Because that was the only thing I cared about, and the only thing I found meaningful in that quickly disappearing world. I just needed you to know that you are loved, and I hoped that it'd make the closing of the curtains on your world a little less frightening.

I thought about that. I thought about how up until that trip, that memory on the airplane, I'd never been able to picture something worth doing in the moments before a crash. But I've finally found a little more meaning in my life in loving you, and I hope you know that.

That's it! This is a tiny affirmation after all. Actually this is already longer than I wanted it to be. And you know, originally I was going to write something about how while going down in that plane I'd finally be able to say I really will love you until the day I die, but I decided that'd be a bit too morbid. Maybe that'll make it into a different letter some day. You'll just have to keep an eye out for it.