Otago, as I write this, I sit in an airport. I’m miles away from you, and I can’t help but notice that the colours seem duller and the sky less open without you near. Laughter seems less genuine, and all I can think about is coming home to you. No matter how damp the soil, or how wet the air, there is something about you that I cannot shake.
I first met you in a bad place in my life. I was young, and I didn’t know what I wanted. I knew I had to get free and be someone, something, different – but where? I didn’t want parents, friends, or anything that I knew. I needed to be an entirely different person. And then I met you.
We were fast friends, and played late into the night. You taught me what real love was. You gave me everything – hope, friendship, freedom. I wouldn’t have done anything that makes me myself without you showing me it first. I’ve woken up many mornings smiling from the sheer happiness of where I am, curled beneath your hills and outstretched arms. If I were to look you in the eye, I would see the emerald that stretches over the peninsula, or the teal that encroaches the shore. I have never known beauty like you.
Sometimes people joke about you – they say they come for the weekend, and then return home. Like you are something to give a try, have some fun with, and then leave. But you are my favourite inside joke, and I like that some people will never understand you. I don’t want to leave you, Otago. I choke up just thinking about it – that one day I will need to leave and I will not return as I was. Will you look at me the same?
I know I am just one of many that you see. I know I am probably no different compared to the many that have come before me, or those who will come after me. But you are something special – no matter where I go, or who I meet, I know I won’t forget you. But I know I need to move on.
I know I’ll find these things in other places, and find a love like I have loved you. There will be other things to enjoy, like how skyscraper lights flicker across the water, or how motorways stretch like arteries. There will be things like noise, scale and freedom to learn – even if that’s freedom from you. Admittedly, so much has changed over the years. We’re different now, not for better or for worse, but I am not the same person I was when we first met. I have changed.
There’s no pressure to respond to this letter. It’s just enough to know that you’re still out there, and that I still have a place with you – even if it won’t be for very long now.
Yours,
