i want to write letters, future wife

Hi, dear.

My friend Manda wrote a post about love letters today.

It made me miss writing them. A lot.

I know I write these letters to you. And I love doing it. But I want to tell you I love you in something without an X in the corner, or a delete button.

I want the magical inseparable couple of ink and paper.

I want to leave a letter on my pillow, when I get up before you, so the first thoughts the world bombards you with that day are my words of love.

I want to leave one in your jacket pocket, so when you’re letting the car heater do its work, and stick your hands in your pocket to warm them up, you’ll find it.

I want to mail one, to our own address, so when you’re sorting through annoying flyers and bummer bills, I’ll get to see that smile. You know the one where your face seems over-matched to contain it?

I want to put them places that show how much I know you, and that I always listen.

I want to leave them for you on days when you’re somehow doubting what I know to be fact. That you’re amazing. That you’re worthy. That you won’t be stopped.

I want to find the words. I want to find the words that touch where you need touching, that lift when the world pushes down, that make you need to kiss me right away.


I want to remind you.

I want to lovingly challenge you.

I want to watch your eyes when you read them.

I want you to feel like the luckiest.

I want you to touch something I touched.

I want these letters to find your doubts. The ones you try to hide. The ones you don’t like to verbalize. The ones I know are there, but strongly feel like they don’t belong. I want these words to find them and kick their ass.

I want you to be a little sad when you’re done reading one.

And a lot happy that you know you’ll get another one soon.

And when we’re old, and I’m surprisingly handsome and Clooneyesque, I’m going to trace “I love you” on your back with my finger, even when my hand is arthritic and shaky and your skin is all wrinkled.

And I want you to appreciate it. All of it.

I want you to collect them and keep them in a drawer under your unmentionables, that I mention all the time.

I want you to brag me up to your friends. “My husband is better than yours!” I want you to start with the letters and then be unable to contain yourself. “He didn’t build a man cave, he built us a love nest!” “He makes me coffee every morning!” “I don’t think ‘insatiable’ is a strong enough word!”

I want you to know that when chips are down, walls are backed up against, and everywhere you turn you’re in a corner, that someone who would write these things is going to be right there beside you.


Fucking always.




photo credit: SYangPhoto via photopin cc

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