So there’s this guy. He has a blog. He writes to his future wife.
Even though I’ve written to my future husband several times, I didn’t think guys were into that, too.
He says things like, “I want to hear how you say my name… in various instances. I want to be able to tell that it is your favourite thing to say. And that it spills out over your lovely lips so damn naturally because you’ve been annoying your friends by saying it to them all the time.”
And “I’d like to have kids. You know, with you. I can almost see already how it will unfold. I think our first baby will be a boy. And I’ll hope, with every ounce of my being, that when he finds someone to spend his life with, he’ll be half as lucky as I’ve been.”
I stayed awake the whole night reading. And afterwards, I still couldn’t sleep, because his words had peeled the protective crust off my heart, and all my deepest, most honest longings lay throbbing and naked on the surface.
I want to be loved like that. I want someone who will write letters on paper, and stage a sock puppet show when I’m sick, and promise me cupcakes for breakfast to get me to fall asleep at night. I want to share root beer popsicles, and cuddle in bed, and kiss while making dinner. I want to be cherished, not just needed.
And I need to love someone like that. Someone who will receive all the tenderness I have to offer and never stop seeing it as a gift. Someone who will let me give myself and find joy in the giving, because I’m not afraid that anything will be taken for granted.
Someone who will never make me feel invisible. Someone who will never let me go.
Just thinking about it makes me giddy.
Just thinking about it makes me terrified.
Because, who am I kidding, it’s one thing to write letters to the perfect girl, and it’s a completely different thing to meet…me.
I used to think waiting for the right man to come along was difficult. Now I know it’s gotta be harder when he finally comes. Because then I — the messy, complicated reality of me — would have to stand up to this man who’s been dreaming of his ideal girl all his life and say, “Hi. It’s me that you’ve been looking for.”
And, for all my imagination, I haven’t yet figured out what he will say to that.