September 13th, 2003
Dear Chernon,
My green pen ran out of ink, so I have to use the black one the
hospital gave me. It feels strange, but that's fitting, because I feel
strange too, tired but not able to sleep, almost like I'm not real. I
want to find my normal life as soon as possoble, my normal life that
will never be the same again.
Yesterday my son was born. His name is Kai Thomas Li. I hope you will
come see him. Or let me bring him to see you. He looks like you and
like Tamahome.
Chernon, if you think I'm trying to "manipulate" you with this child,
you're dead wrong. I can't believe how wrong you are. I love you and
I've always loved you, and I don't know why you can't accept that for
what it is. I bring up the baby because -- guess what? -- he's part of
my life now and if you want to be part of my life, and I want you to,
then he's part of yours, too.
I can't speak for Tamahome -- yes, I talked to him, yes I wish you two
would patch things up, but what's so different about that. This baby
just reminds me that now there's even more at stake than my own torn
heart. I'm angry with you for taking my love for my child and for you
and trying to make it look like something evil, because it's not.
And damn it, Chernon, you don't have to be on the outside. I love you
as much as I've ever loved anyone, and I'm willing to let you in, to
give you more, if you would only stop pushing me away . . .
It's only recently that I've begun regretting what happened between us.
If I'd know I'd lose you like this, I never would have done it. Is that
what you want to hear? Whatever I did to do this to you, I'm sorry,
okay? Do you want me to come crawling, whimpering and kissing your feet?
Just remember that you're not the only one who feels on the outside.
Mara