I don’t even have to ask why you left a note instead of telling me directly. Some things are easier in writing. Some things are easier when you know you won’t have to face a direct response, even from someone you love. Sometimes especially from someone you love.
It’s hard, Westel. For once – possibly the first time since we have started on this journey together – I finally understand what you feel when you ask me why you cannot be enough for me. And I understand the pain of being told that you are enough, that your lover… just wants this other too. Don’t be hurt. Don’t take it personally. How can one not? It may sound odd that these feelings are so new to me – of course my lovers have had other lovers before; sometimes for good, some for ill – but strange as it sounds, this is perhaps the first time I’ve actually felt the pain of being the other woman. The one being left behind.
I believe you when you say you love me most – we have a family and a life together, after all, and she cannot give you what I do. But try as I do, I cannot give you what she does either. And through all this, I have no right nor place to complain – she was there first, after all. And even if she is not your truest love today, she will never be far from your mind nor your heart.
I don’t mind that you go hunting, Westel. I understand that you need time to yourself. I do not worry or fear when you seek the peace of the forest. What I mind is the way you pack angrily at three am, when you shove your clothing into that bag you never let me patch so hard I expect you will punch right through. I worry when you are snarling and growling as you prepare to depart. I am shamed and hurt when you remind me that I am the reason you are leaving – me and my cities, and my finery, and my vocation, and my friends, and my choices. And perhaps I deserve at least a fraction of that shame. I believe you when you tell me you love me; I can do naught but trust you when you tell me of your intentions to return when the fire in your blood has cooled. But it does not lessen my fear that when you find that peace, you will not want to return to the whirlwind of strife that is your life with me.
It is such a strange position I find myself in. Were your mistress a woman I should have no fear at all; there is none on Azeroth whom I could not outshine, outwit and outmatch. But I cannot be trees and deer and crickets in the night; I cannot be green ferns and cool rivers and great boulders by the falls. Please understand that I do not begrudge the love you hold for your other Lady and I would not come between you. When you seek her in happy times it bothers me not at all – I am happy for you, in fact, and content to busy myself with other matters until your return. But when you run to her to escape from me… how can I be content with this? How can I expect that you will not one day chose she who brings you peace over she who brings you pain? I trust that you are truthful when you say that the joy I bring you outweighs the sorrow. But these words are a fragile lifeline when you are cursing the four walls that form our home.
And yet, when all is said and done… Westel, I don’t know if you know how much peace you bring me. I don’t know if it matters. I try to bring you the same… but in the end I know I cannot do for you what the earth and air of Ashenvale can do. And I love you. And so I let you go. And I trust you will return. Love means letting go, is that not what they say?
…well. Maybe I won’t entirely let you go. But I will learn to live with your Lady. Perhaps not directly in her trees and meadows… but with her, nonetheless. Alongside her. I will try to remember, when you fly to her in anger, that I have nothing to fear from her, any more than I do from you. That you love us both. And that no matter how often you run to her, you will always come home to me.
I love you, Westel. Come home soon.