Normally when I write one of these, I have an idea or theme going in. Christmas. My proposal to you. Snow days. Hopping in the shower with you.
And while I’m a huge fan of all those things, today I’m just going to type. I hope you don’t mind.
I know you won’t.
I’ve never been more sure that you’re reading these.
Under the covers, wearing yoga pants and a t-shirt, your hair in a messy ponytail, sipping on a coffee that is refusing to cool off fast enough for your liking and is kind of poking the bear.
I even see you reading the old ones. And if there are lines about FW potentially being short or freckled or whatever doesn’t sound like you, I see you shaking your head and thinking, “It’s just because he hadn’t met ME yet.”
I love it.
I see you.
And I’ve never been so clear on… you. You’ve been coming more and more into focus over the years.
With each failed relationship. With each meeting of someone new. With each episode of The West Wing I re-watched. With each “chick flick” I’ve seen, while thinking, “Pffft. I can write something better than this… but it is kiiiind of sweet.” With each dream. Day or night. With each word I’ve written, trying to tell the universe what I want.
What I need.
A friend once asked if getting pickier as you get older is smart.
Well of course it is.
Time, experience and wisdom are exactly what help you see clearly who will fit perfectly with you. And you with them.
I think about how I’ll tamp down my morning energy a little, if you’re not a morning person. FYI: It is still going to involve a soft little kiss because it’s been too many hours since I’ve felt your lips and you’re just going to have to adjust a bit.
I’m thinking about that kiss right now. I just noticed my finger on my lips.
I think about “our song.” Whatever it’ll be.
I think about Netflix cuddles.
I think about hand holding in sea breezes with a moonlight chaser.
I really think about you a lot already. I imagine exchanges like this:
“I woke up at around five this morning, and got too excited thinking about you, and couldn’t get back to sleep,” I’ll say.
“But we were up until almost two!”
“You must be almost delirious.”
“Noooo… Grandma? Is that you?”
“I’m fine. I promise.”
“I really make you lose sleep?”
“I hope that fades soon.”
“Darling, I hope it NEVER does.”
And you’ll look at me. I’ll recognize the look.
“How cute are you?” you’ll ask.
“Exactly midway between a woodchuck and a koala bear.”
I think sometimes about how you’ll show your closest friends these letters and they’ll get them, but not enough for you. You won’t understand how they can like them, but not feel… something.
It’s just because they’re not Future Wife. But you are. I’m writing these for you. About you.
That’s not going to stop when we finally remove the “future” part.
I’m really looking forward to that.
And to us.
We’re going to be smug. We’re going to be insufferable little ragamuffins of love.
We’re going to be an inspiration to others.
We’re going to be the very best team.