You want the truth?
Here it is:
I hate worrying about you. I hate not knowing where you are travelling. I hate not having an itinerary when your travelling.
I hate wondering if you’re safe whenever there’s an attack.
The London Bridge attacks? Guess where my mind went. And it didn’t help when television crews showed a bicycle.
I know I sound like an overprotective grandmother. And I’m far from one of those “anchor your boat to the harbour” people. You’re a ship. Pull up your anchor. You’re meant to sail.
But I hate worrying about you when it’s no longer my place to worry. Yes, I know that’s on me. And I’m sorry.
But I’m not sorry. Because I’ll always worry about you.
And I’ll always care.