My dearest Joyce,
There are things I carry quietly — and you are one of them. Not as a burden, never that, but as something precious I am careful not to drop. The way you exist in the world — fully, warmly, without apology — has changed the quality of my days in ways I am still learning to name.
I notice you in the small things. The way a song mid-week makes me think, she would love this. The way I reach for my phone just to share a thought — not because I have to, but because no moment feels completely real until I have shared it with you.
I think about that day at Zip World — the two of us at the top of the world, literally. Your face in that helmet. The way you held on and laughed anyway. That's you: brave when it's hard, radiant when it counts.
You have this rare gift — you make people feel seen. Not just heard. Seen. Every person who has been in the warmth of your attention knows exactly what I mean. I count myself lucky — grateful — to be one of them.
I love you, Joyce Nanji Kira. Not because the words need saying (though they do). But because you deserve to know, in writing, in colour, in something that exists beyond a single moment — that you are deeply, completely, undeniably loved.
Whatever comes next, I want to face it standing next to you. You are not just the person I love. You are the person I choose, every single day.