Hiiiiii, future wife.
I’m all about the moments.
Some people are all about the experiences, the places, the parties, or the foods.
I’m about the moments. Those moments. The moments where you feel just a little bit bad for anyone who isn’t you right then. Right there.
I want to have so effing many of those moments with you.
I want to sit on a supercomfy couch. My feet on the coffee table. Rocking the official uniform of a Peter – plaid shirt and jeans. (Adidas sitting nearby someplace.)
You beside me. Reading a book. Your feet tucked up underneath you to keep warm. An afghan (the blanket) that my old aunt made, wrapped around you, covering yoga pants (or leggings or tights, I don’t know the difference) and a ten year old t-shirt. Your hair is up, but barely. Perfectly messy.
The snow falls heavily outside. The wind whips noisily enough to make us appreciate shelter.
I want to be there.
I don’t want to be asked what we’re doing later or tomorrow or next week. I don’t want to hear about the news from the outside world.
I want to be there.
I’m watching Cosmic Front. It’s the episode about extraterrestrial life. My mind wanders to space and travel and visitors from other worlds.
You look at the TV for a few seconds. Mostly because you’re a dork too, and a bit nosy. (You call it “curious about others.”)
I look over at you. I think about how you’d make a hot Orion slave girl. (The green chicks from Star Trek.)
You catch me staring.
“What?” you ask.
You smile a smile that I hope didn’t exist before you met me, and go back to your book. You tuck your hair behind your ear. My breath catches and releases in a sigh.
My show ends and Strip the City comes on. They are showing what went into building Dubai. I am amazed by how far down the bedrock is. I turn to tell you, but you’re into your book again. Teeth gently biting your lower lip.
I think about how you’d even look hot in a burqa
A song pops into my head.
“Her eyes… her eyes…”
Who sings it?
I laugh at how that ties into Cosmic Front.
The same commercial that’s been on seven times tonight comes on again. I stare at you some more.
The best kind of “those moments” are the ones where you realize you are in them.
I realize it.
This moment, for all of its cozy and pretty and warm and wonderful, is missing something.
Then it hits me.
I lean over and kiss you.
Like I need to.
Because I do.