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Iji Aijinn,
I don’t know when, or how, or even if this will ever reach you, but I am writing as much to collect my own thoughts and feelings as toward the eventuality that you will read this. Like you, I believe in my heart that we will see one another again some day, and in the meanwhile, perhaps we will find some way to pass missives between us, though I don’t even yet know exactly where you’ve gone. This alone seems somehow unfathomable. The idea of it keeps going round and round in my head that I don’t know where you are. That I won’t know. Can’t know. May never know. That you are probably never coming back here, where we have had so many happy years together. When I reach that point, I can’t seem to think anymore.
Part of me knew that this—or something equally ominous—was coming. But you could not tell me, and I would not have asked you to, even if I’d had an inkling of what you were truly up to. Another part of me is, to be honest, still feeling unreasonably and unreasoningly furious and betrayed. That’s the part of me that’s frightened of facing the future alone, without your strength and wisdom to draw on, without your warmth beside me in our bed, without your love. And yet, there is another part—again, I must be honest—that welcomes the opportunity to forge my own identity apart from your direct influence. I wonder if I would feel that way if you had not been my master before you were my lover? None of us can truly escape our influences, can we? But I know that my life will be very different now and some part of me is eager to discover just how. You should feel some triumph in that, I think.
I wish I had been here to hear you tick off the full Conclave with that rant of yours, though you’re right in thinking I would have given you a tongue-lashing to go with it. Whatever possessed you to write such a thing, let alone deliver it in person? What were you thinking? It makes you sound half-mad if not half-fallen, and I know you’re neither. I wish I knew whose ears this was really intended for, because I can’t believe it was truly aimed at your fellow Jedi and the full Council. What are you up to? Something far more devious than a parting of the ways, no doubt.
But you seem to think, foolish old man, that I could somehow stop loving you merely because you’ve done as you have always done and followed what the Force tells you. How can you not know after all this time together that that is precisely why I came to love you so much? And if it leads you away from me for a time, well, there are worse things than mere separation. We have been playing at being apart for some time now since my knighting, and though I like it as little as you, we both knew this day would come. I find myself thankful that you are only gone of your own stubborn will, and not taken from me as you might have been at Naboo.
This does not mean I miss you any less, or that I sleep well without you. I think you know what that first night was like. The ones after have not been much easier, but I won’t burden you with my loneliness, except here in this letter. At the same time, I’m more grateful than I can say for the bond we have, odd as it is. It’s comforting to know that when I need to, I can open it and sense your presence and your emotions, even if I can’t actually touch you or hear your voice. And it has some intriguing possibilities we haven’t really explored. Perhaps now is the time to do so, since necessity has presented itself.
You won’t be surprised to hear I’m vacating our quarters. I haven’t slept well there, knowing you weren’t coming back to them. The rooms feel huge and empty, and so does the bed. I think if Jicky and I are to get on with things, as we must, then we should start fresh. Our rooms without evidence of your presence are emptier than I could have imagined, or than I can bear. Even Jicky feels your absence.
You already know that I agree with you about Anakin, and that, if nothing else, makes your leaving endurable. I know that it is your sense of duty that has taken you away and I know, and believe, that we are both Jedi first, above all else. That too makes your absence, if not less painful, then more bearable. But duty, I feel sure, does not keep either of us warm at night.
As for other lovers, well, I will say nothing of them either, though I cannot imagine replacing you or even attempting to substitute anyone for you. You have always been first in my heart, Qui. You always will be.
Be well, my heart. May the Force be with you.
And I will ever be,
Your Obi-Wan