Tag Archive | love letter

See you someday, love.

See you when the waiting is over.

See you when I can wake up next to you, try to get out of bed, and decide that coffee can wait for just five more minutes of listening to your heartbeat.

See you when we can spend long evenings doing nothing more important than discussing muffins vs. cupcakes or the admirable qualities of cats.

See you when I can watch the subtle little changes that life causes in you from day to day, when I can take delight in all the tiny, inconsequential details that make you who you are. Like the kinds of smiles you have, or the way your voice gets rougher when you’re already half-asleep.

See you when I can cry on your shoulder and know the powerful comfort of your simple presence and strength.

See you when I can hug the frustration right out of you, or find the right words to say, or simply take care of you after you’ve had one of those days when everything goes wrong.

See you when I don’t just get to hear your laughter, but see it and feel it rumbling through your body into mine.

See you when time and space no longer separate us, when I can write my love on your skin instead of on a white, empty screen far removed from your warmth.

When today is difficult, or painful, or just plain sad, I always try to remember one thing.

I’ll see you someday.

Until someday, love.

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This is how I plan to love you for the rest of my life

Just so you know, this is what happens when you have my heart.

You would never doubt it.

I wouldn’t let you.

Be more mysterious, I’ve been told, by magazines and blogs and sleepover confidants. It’s a mistake to let him know everything that you feel. Men like the chase, like competition, to keep from getting bored. So make him jealous, they wink and nudge. Play hard to get.

But how hard to get can I be, babe, when I’m already yours?

How jealous can I make you when the very thought of you doubting your place in my life feels unbearably wrong?

There will be no games between us. No manipulations, no pretenses, no lies.

You will know that you hold my heart. You will know that I would never want anyone else.

You will know that I love you.

See, I plan on telling you every day.

First thing when I wake up, whispered against your skin.

Last thing at night, for you to take into your dreams.

When you are tired and frustrated and sad.

When you are so lighthearted you start singing songs whether you know the lyrics or not.

When you make me laugh.

When you save me from cockroaches and nightmares and panic attacks.

When I am proud of you.

When you can’t believe that I am proud of you (especially then).

When we need to fix something wrong, so you’ll know that whatever it is, it won’t change how I feel.

When I’m asking for coffee kisses.

When you’re asking for a back rub.

When I welcome you home or kiss you goodbye.

When you look like you need a hug, or even when you don’t but I just want to give you one anyway.

I will keep telling you, babe, in whispers, in exclamations, in laughter, in letters, in touches, in looks.  I will tell you until it sinks into your skin, flows with your blood, and joins in the beating of your heart. Until my love for you becomes part of who you are, and who you will be, for as long as your heart beats, and mine.

I will tell you, always.

And every time I do, I will mean it more than the last time I said it. Every “I love you” will carry the weight of all the “I love you’s” before, and the promise of more to come.

That promise will always be fulfilled.

I will always love you.

And I will always let you know.

A Letter for My Future Husband

This is one of several letters I wrote to give to my future husband on our wedding day. I’d just like to share it as an encouragement to those who are also in the season of waiting.

June 9, 2007 (2:38 AM)

Dearest,

By the time you read this, you and I would have met, learned to love each other, and promised to belong together for the rest of our lives. I would have memorized everything about you — your face, your voice, your touch. And you would know me more intimately than anyone ever has or will.

But right now, I am alone. I know you only in my imagination…and my dreams. But, darling, in a way that I can’t explain, I love you now. It’s as if I know you in my heart, and because we are separated by time, I miss you. So I am writing this to you as a way of reaching into the future — to tell you that I am saving my heart until you finally come to claim it. I am waiting for you, beloved. And I pray that wherever you are right now, you are waiting for me as well.

As the days go by, I long for you in a way that I have never experienced before. It is a strange feeling, to miss someone whom I do not even know. My prayer is that this longing will glorify God by drawing me closer to him, because as much as I love you now and will love you in the future, I will always love Him more. I know that it will be the same for you, as it should. Our common passion for the one who made us for each other will strengthen our love and deepen our bond. It will be the first thing that will draw me towards you.

Though it isn’t always easy, I can see the hand of God in giving us this season of waiting. Because you are always in my thoughts, simple activities become special when I think of them as preparation for the future. There is so much more to learn before I am ready. Be patient with me, beloved, for my life is a work in progress. I know that yours is, too. Therefore, allow me to say this now: If there is anything, anything at all in your past that might hurt me, know that you will have my forgiveness. You do not have to earn it; it is yours. I am no stranger to second chances, and I do not want our future to hold any bitterness or recriminations. Let us live in the freedom that the greatest Love of all has restored to us.

Someday, you and I will talk about everything that made us who we are. There may be laughter, tears, thankfulness, and yes, regrets. But always, God’s goodness will be present. It is, after all, because of His love that we will find each other. And when we do, this season of waiting will give way to a season of discovery, when I can finally listen to your stories and tell you all of mine. So until that day, beloved, I am saving myself for you. I have surrendered the keys of my heart to God, and he will open the door for you to enter in the perfect time.

I love you, my darling. I am waiting.

Yours forever,

Abigail

P.S. I’ve got other letters for you. It’s become a habit, I think. At this rate you’ll probably spend our entire honeymoon reading.


Day 22 — Someone you want to give a second chance to

Maybe some paths are meant to be untraveled. But for every beckoning horizon unheeded, another destination is reached. ~from Reunion

Dearest you,

“I know I can’t make you mine. I just wonder how it feels to be loved by you.”

You wrote this to me, in that letter that came out of the blue and took me by surprise. You said you were thinking about our almost-love story, the one that ended before it began, ended because I needed to be free. You remember letting me go. I remember, too. Of course I remember.

I smiled as I thought of how far we’ve come — from that agonizing, bittersweet connection to this comfortable friendship between two people who have loved each other in so many different ways. As I typed out my reply to you, I took a risk and said, “I’ve been wondering,  too.”

When I wrote that, I was thinking of the boy you were and the girl I was, two mere children who had never known real heartbreak. Sure, we talked about it, we even wrote songs and poetry about it, but our hearts were whole. Not any longer. We’re not that boy and girl anymore, we’ve learned something, if not everything, about the fragility of joy and the riskiness of trust. And so now I wonder: How would it be between us today, between the people that we have become? Will we end up hurting each other with the defenses that we have built? Or will it be a healing bond, a return to the innocence that we lost? The possibilities are beautiful and dangerous at the same time.

You wrote something else in that letter, something about imagining the two of us together for a day. It’s a captivating image — just one day, 24 perfect hours.  One chance to finally open that yellowed envelope of our might-have-been, to find out how the unwritten part of our story ends. It’s tempting.

But we both know we won’t do it. We are too aware of each other’s grief to play games with our hearts like that. It would be a mistake, and I don’t want any part of our story to be a mistake. So in the end, despite the sweetness of the possibilities, we both know that this will be another chance not taken, another page left blank because it’s too late now to change the plot.  But in my mind, I’ll live those 24 hours with you, and when I return to reality, you’ll also be there, in a friendship that’s better than any daydream.

I’ve never told you this before, but I know that this time it won’t confuse us both:

I love you. You have to know that by now.

Always,

G

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