June 21st 2021.
The summer that started the rest of my life.
And I wouldn't know it for six long, destructive months. My fate was realigned.
I longed for purpose. Craving something new. But I didn't know what. For everything I am or ever have been, a psychic isn't one of them.
Half a year.
161 days - give or take.
Day. Night. Day. Night.
The summer you broke into existence.
I didn't know you. You were beyond conceptualisation. Beyond any plan ever drafted out. Beyond any dream ever visualized. So much more than words can simply tell.
My universe. Not blood. But so much stronger, so much more resilient and so much more forgiving than water.
Not just water.
At first maybe a drop in the ocean, as far as my awareness was concerned.
But hardly. You were never just a drop. Never just anything.
The first time you smiled at me. The first time I held you. The first time for it all. You lit a fire inside of me I never knew existed. A feeling. An emotion. A passion. A fear. An indescribable myriad of chaos. Not all at once, but at the same time, yes, all at once.
Not your first summer. Your second. Our second. The second summer of our lives.
The summer when we truly knew one another.
Our bond, the single most powerful thing in the universe. Stronger than any diamond. And like diamonds, made from immense pressure of keeping you safe and the unrelenting heat of June 21st. And from the hardship, my once uncertain feelings crystallized into something solid and definite.
My unconditional love for someone who I met through chance. Through a badly timed event. But I'd never change a thing.
Because the summer that started the rest of my life was the summer my stepson was born.
I love you, Kayden.