Dear Future Wife...#604
I’m no stranger to cheesy romanticism. I mean, read this thing. This is me.
And yes, I’ve always been hopeful. Even in my darkest times, if it was quiet and I was looking out of my window, or up at the stars, the sounds of the night quietly soothing me…I’d send two things out into the universe. A wish for us to finally find each other. And a clear and frustrated “Where are you?!” I can’t tell you how many plane windows I’ve looked out of and pondered this question. I can’t tell you how many sunsets I watched missing you by my side.
I don’t have the feeling of needing to escape anymore. I don’t want to wander aimlessly in pursuit of “freedom.” I don’t need to rationalize my fears and settle for going at it alone. I’m not lost. I’m not wandering.
I’m home. You’re my home. And it doesn’t matter if I’m halfway across the world. It doesn’t matter that I can’t touch you no matter how hard I try to reach you through the iPad screen. When I think about us in any context….I’m home.
I want infinite moments of just sitting quietly together. I want to stare at you until you notice and ask me “why are you looking at me like that?” I want to fall asleep together. I want to wake up to your bed head. I want to be at the end of that aisle smiling so big that I can barely see. I want you in my life in a big way.
Because this new home? It’s perfect. And I’m already moved in.