Isaac,

This letter was very nearly something else. Another bottle of wine, perhaps. Some simpler token of apology. It seemed unnecessarily dramatic to lay out my thoughts in some grand treatise, as if you would not have a number of valid counterpoints to each. But I hope there is value too in delivering all of this together in ink and paper, where you might have the freedom to consider your answer in your own time.

I should not have involved you in something I did not intend to be transparent about. Other people's secrets are not something I share easily; I ought not to have asked you to do what I would not. It was a thoughtless question, and I am sorry for it.

[ But not, apparently, for keeping said secret in the first place. ]

I have come to rely on your judgement in many things, without asking whether you wish to be so relied upon, or what you expect of me in return. In the process, I suppose I have made some assumptions about the limits of your interest in me. Perhaps it is better ask—

Is my trust something you want?

We have shared things neither of us offers lightly. That alone means more to me than can be committed to paper. But you are very good at avoiding my questions — better even than I am at avoiding yours. It is not a challenge I mind; there is a familiar safety in secrecy for us both, and a pleasure in the unraveling. But what I have of you is not all that I want. If you would have more of my trust, I would ask a measure of yours.

What that means precisely, I leave to you. Ask something of me and I will answer. Allow me a piece of you in return, and I will keep it safe. Or allow me nothing but what you have already given, and I will keep that in my confidence just the same. Whatever you decide, I would have it offered freely, as I do now.

With affection,

[ A distinct lack of signature. ]