By Sandra Clarke
Nicole and I met overseas during a period of profound change in my life. We connected quickly and remained in communication upon my return home through weekly online calls, building an increasingly important friendship. It became the place where I felt most seen, held, and understood. After a year and a half, I finally disclosed that my feelings were beyond friendship. The relationship began to unravel, eventually coming to an end. What follows is a love letter to the woman who helped me discover my bisexual identity, my community and, in many ways, myself.
Dear Nicole,
Separation from you…the end of our relationship, has been one of the deepest pains that I have ever known. The depth of grief can’t fully be expressed…I feel unmoored, alone and less safe with the world and people around me, like I am free falling with nothing, no one to grab onto. This sorrow is deep, but its depth doesn’t just lie in the present moment. It is a crashing of the present and the past creeping in to haunt me as it so often does. There is a very little girl in me who forever wonders why she is never enough. What makes her so hard to love? Hard to hold onto?
You hoped that I could understand your situation and I believe that I do. You set a firm boundary to protect yourself, Melanie, and your relationship. I know that you love Melanie very much. You have shared a life together for a long time. Your lives are deeply intertwined. I imagine you both sharing stories and struggles, supporting each other through each day… you are each other’s person. I picture her listening to you, sitting with you, watching TV together in the evenings. She is there to calm you, laugh with you, hold you, comfort you, and be with you. She is the one you come home to, the one you share meals with, the one you call, the one you consult, the one you nurture and protect. You celebrate life together, you share fur babies, long-time friends and you belong within each other’s families. All of this is what makes life worth living, worth fighting for. It is the tether that holds you down when the chaotic world swirls around you, your soft place to fall, the strength that holds you up, sees you, and believes in you, even when you feel you have lost yourself. It is your home. My mind understands but my heart is unmoved. It stands firmly in defiance, angry, fighting, refusing to live by the rules, pushing, pulling and tearing away from its own brokenness.
The way you looked at me, your gaze so soft, tender, full of compassion—if you had never spoken a word to me, I still would have felt held and loved more deeply than ever before. You quietly listened, stayed curious, shared in my joy, laughed with me, remembered my stories and all the feelings. You challenged how I viewed myself, and through your eyes, I saw myself anew. Your kind, steadfast, and consistent care built me up. You saw me and then I was able to see myself. Your friendship built a foundation for me to stand on, stable, grounded, real. It provided a place to begin growing from, instead of a place to simply survive from. You were finally there walking beside me. We held each other up; you gave me strength.
When we met, I was sick and fearful, but you never turned away, you turned towards. You were unshaken by my history—my gentle, trusted companion, reaching into the past to soothe the most vulnerable parts of me. If I had not met you, I may have never left my husband. I may have stayed small, abandoning myself, living ill, in quiet isolation. Meeting you awoke something in me—a silent pondering became a screaming voice! I can and I want to love this way! This feels so right. Safe connection and desire can be woven together in the gentlest of ways. The realization that I am bisexual opened a door to a community that I can belong to. A community that understands what it’s like to stand in the margins. A community where creativity is valued and thriving, where those who push the boundaries of cultural and collective norms can find solace. This is a community for me.
I started dancing again soon after we met. You shared in my excitement. Your eyes lit up like mine when I talked about a new class or upcoming performances. My delight was yours and yours mine. If we had not met, I may have never graced a stage again. I was numb and you brought me back to myself. I was hiding and you found me. Now I can truly embody my own sensuality, express it through movement in a way that is authentically me.
I don’t regret meeting you and letting you in. I am grateful that you also let me in and made space for me in your life, even if it was just for a brief period. You took a risk and I am so grateful that you did.
Melanie…. I am grateful to her for allowing you to form a meaningful connection with me. I wish I could take away her hurt. She may regret it, but she gave me such a precious gift, a human gift. She allowed me to experience deep caring and connection in a way that I have never felt before. You both gifted me an open door, a caught breath, a light, respite, the freedom and joy of feeling known, valued, and cared for. These are the gifts that you gave me and the gifts that she let unfold for me.
I love you, Nicole, and as much as I so long to be your person, to share a life with you, to be close to you, to hold you and to be held by you, I know I need to let you go. Right now, I always want to love you as much as I do now, with the same intensity for forever. The thought of time causing our feelings to waver, to soften, loosening their grip on us, is unbearable to me. The time and space between us is like a gaping wound, a wound I keep poking at, a wound I don’t seem to want to heal.
I want what is best for you. I wish for you a lifetime filled with true connection, where love and compassion flow in, out, and all around you, gently holding you, protecting you, fiercely unwavering. I hope that you feel known, lovingly witnessed, that you can see the truth of who you are in the eyes of others. Never doubt what an amazing person you are and the positive impact you have. I want you to always have a hand to hold and hope that sustains you. Please take care of you. I so wish I could be in your life, standing beside you to hold you up and have you to fall into, how I imagine love would and could be, but I understand it can’t be—not in this life.
I love you, Nicole. Always.
Sandra
Sandra Clarke (BFA, Dance) is a Canadian (Ontario) based writer, burlesque performer, and dance artist creating playful, sensual, character-driven pieces that explore sweetness, seduction, transformation, and the shifting power of the gaze. She uses writing and dance as tools for self-exploration, giving form to emotion and exploring tenderness, longing, grief, and the healing power of being seen. Sandra is working towards her MA in Psychotherapy and is a mother living with fibromyalgia.