You do not know me. Maybe you never will. You do not exist yet, but you are coming. You are part of me already.
I am going to be your father.
Maybe that is presumptuous of me, but in this I can be bold. I have no alternative left but certainty. I love your mother. I will always love her. Not with blind eyes, but with truth.
Because I can see her soul.
A long story, another letter. Maybe you will have the same gift. Maybe it would be better if you did not. It can be a burden, knowing the truth about people. Always seeing the truth, and the darkness.
You learn about yourself when you see the darkness. You learn what you can tolerate and what you can forgive, and what you cannot. You learn how dark your own heart is when you see the darkness in others, and you learn how strong your light can be, when confronted with the endlessness of human suffering. Everyone, baby, feels alone. Everyone aches for kindness.