i really think it’s the only way to do it, future wife

Dear Future Wife,

I’ve made lots of promises in these letters to you.

I’ve shown myself to be something of an idealist.

Possibly even a dreamer.

And, frankly, I couldn’t be more pleased with myself for that. (Or for most things I do, really.)

I don’t plan on stopping.

In fact, I think I’ll do it again right now.

See, here’s the thing:

I hope we NEVER stop loving like idiots.

I mean it.

The kids have the flu.

You have a hole in the jammie pants you wear constantly, showing that you haven’t shaved your legs since just around the beginning of time.

We’ll look at each other, mere husks of our former selves.

And we’ll make out.

Money problems.

Stressful times.

Misunderstandings. Large and small.

Trouble in the Middle East.

I’ll slap your butt.

And we’ll make out.

Swoony texts out of the blue.

Post-it love notes hanging hither and yon. (Possibly containing ridiculous phrases like “hither and yon.”)

Presents for one of the most important holidays…

Just ’cause.

Let’s do it.

All of it.

I’ll always have your back, when the world wants to knock you on it.

I’ll fight for you so much more than with you.

I’ll be yours.


Like idiots.

People will say it isn’t possible.

Old married couples will scoff and shake their heads smugly.

But I don’t care.

They don’t know.

They don’t know you.

They don’t know about your heart and warmth and beauty and grace.

They don’t know about your smile and sense of humour and loyalty and spirit.

And they don’t know us.

A love like ours won’t age, even as we do.

A love like ours won’t go stale, despite routines and the familiar.

A love like ours will never, ever be taken for granted.

I really mean it.

I promise to always love you like an idiot.

So we’ve got that goin’ for us.

Which is nice.






photo credit: amanky via photopin cc

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