Letters to Luthien

Letters to My Future Bride

To She Who Did Not Wait Pt. 3

“I need a moment now, I have to clear my mind 
There is a limit, Lord, just to being kind. …
Can you see it in the night? Can you feel that it’s out there?
It’s the arcing of a life and it’s hanging in the air
Though I try to close my eyes and pretend that I don’t know
In my heart, I just can’t let it go.”

Did you ever sit on the stairs in delighted anticipation of Christmas morning, absolutely bursting with the childish excitement, anticipating the gifts that wait for you just a Christmas morning sprint away, and yet having to wait for them? And did someone ever go down ahead of you and peek at the gifts first? Or, did someone ever guess the gift you gave, or unwrap it ahead of time without you knowing?

Did you ever arrange to meet with someone, or to leave together with someone, and they went without you because they didn’t want to wait? Did you ever make an appointment with friends for dinner, and they ate without you? Did you ever want to go see a special movie with a friend and then they went to see the movie without you? Did you ever work your brain until it hurt trying to pass a class, only to have someone cheat and do better than you?

Petty annoyances, aren’t they? Trifling, bothersome little events in life that get under our skin. But we get over them and we move on. After all, what’s the big deal? The same presents you couldn’t wait to see were overvalued in your mind at the time…they will be half-broken and half-forgotten in six months’ time. The gift you give is still the gift…is timing all that important? Your friend will still be happy to finish eating with you, and they’ll be ever so happy to go to the same movie again.

But it isn’t the same, is it? Somehow, timing changes everything. Your friend is nice to see the movie with you again, but she already saw it. She’s just seeing it to be nice to you. It’s about the shared experience. It’s different — special, when there’s a first and you share it with someone. I can’t help but think God knew this since He wanted us to give our first fruits as an offering.

Now super-size that feeling of exclusion, loneliness, disappointment, missing out and so forth to one of the most fundamental tenets of the human existence. (In case you disagree with me, I was reading the other day how explorers like Ponce de Leon and Columbus were wanting to find trade routes and all, but they also sought the Fountain of Youth. Why seeking that? Because the aging explorers heard rumors of a fountain which rejuvenated them and restored to them “all manly performances”. Was America discovered and populated because some old guys wanted to have sex again? We may never know.)

The point is, that’s how I feel. It’s how you make me feel. And it’s a permanent feeling. It’s eternal and ineffaceable. You can’t erase the knowledge in your head. You can’t ever forget welcoming another man’s privates inside your own, the shared pleasure and happiness it brought you. And that knowledge itself fills my heart with foreboding and weighs down my mind.

The funny thing is, you don’t understand.

You still don’t.

It was all here. All of it! Just waiting for you.

The cozy nights by the fire. The ring and proposal on bended knee.  The Friday night pizza and movie. The road trips and laundry. The rice and the kiss. The burnt dinners and the laughter, the moonlight and music, the candles and dancing, the milk and cookies, the babies, the diapers, the shoulder to cry on, the closet full of shoes, the rainy nights, Christmas with your family and Easter with mine. Paris and Italy, the organ and the flower girl, the stroller and crib. The dusty attic to accumulate with half-forgotten relics of the life we build together. The “honey-do” list of home improvements and lazy Sunday afternoons. The youthful infatuation and the aged adoration.

It was all here. Every bit of it. Every raw emotion, every ounce of love and warmth, the fairy-tale romance you’ve always craved. Everything you wanted and more, I was ready to give, and to be, and to become. I’ve been putting it together, building it as best I know how in preparation for your arrival.

And you were off in bed with another man!

I want so badly to scold you for accepting, and to slug him senseless for inviting or pressuring. He has something I could never, ever have, something you can only give once. He probably doesn’t even know its value, the great ape. It’s like he withdrew an inheritance with my name on it and then burned it.

And now they say — the ones who warned and counseled me to remain pure myself, to subdue appetites stronger than wind and tide in favor of “something better” — are telling me not to cling so tightly to that standard. I have to forgive. Forgive! Abandon my hope for the the future, they mean. Foreclose. They want me to be the redeemer, renouncing the one thing I’ve looked forward to my entire life just so you won’t feel so bad. And hey, maybe I’ll be rewarded in heaven for denying my reward yet again on earth.

Let me explain something you may not understand since you’ve been sexually active for the last decade. Virgins are pent-up. We’re like a can of fuel that’s sealed and sat in the sunlight. It heats up and expands like a balloon. Merely cracking the seal releases tremendous pressure. We’ve been burning since puberty, waging a constant war to suppress the inferno. We can’t wait to toss that match into that can and finally burn freely, in a joyously clean inferno.

want that freshness, that newness, that excitement and energy of Christmas morning, but the first Christmas morning ever, together, when the taboo becomes not just permissible but a commandment. Hunger is the best seasoning, and I want that pent-up emotion to come out, along with all the butterflies, fireworks, laughter and adrenaline. I want that first meal together to be ours. OURS, and no one else’s.

Madam, you won’t have that heady buzz. You’ve already been there. Lots of times. There’s nothing new I can give you, and darned if I want you instructing me! I would be given the keys to the car for the very first time. You’ll just be glad to be driving again. Because you started without me.

I wanted to be rewarded. Is that so wrong? One or two ladies I recently asked balked at the idea of being viewed as a “prize” — even though a higher compliment I could not contrive! Don’t we all hope that the things we do in the spirit of discipline and self-control are for a future reward? I said reward, not trophy. Even Christ endured the cross “for the joy set before Him.” I take no offense if I’m considered my true bride’s reward. Believe me when I say, I intend to reward her in every possible way! I’m working hard to polish myself so she’ll be happier with her reward! I want to treat you like a princess, and it’s hard to imagine that when you were off playing the part of the prostitute. (I don’t even blame prostitutes as badly; they’re just making a living selling their body. Disgusting, yes. But they are not giving their heart, their mind, their emotions. You did.)

I don’t see how I could ever sleep, or ever expunge the dark thoughts of knowing one or more men walk the earth who know what your orgasm face looks like, whose eyes have prowled every inch of you, whose fingers have combed the arch of your body.

I knew you couldn’t be like me. I knew you couldn’t have held off on relationships entirely. But I didn’t expect you to surrender all and everything, the ultimate trust and vulnerability given away. I always hoped and sought after that shared triumph of holding off together so we could discover it together.

Of course there’s forgiveness. But that grade you cheated to get is still on your transcript. You get to have your cake and eat it too. You have diplomatic immunity under the shadow of the cross, and I can’t say anything because you’re forgiven. Oh, and you feel bad. Of course you do. Now. Now that you see what you lost out on. Well guess what, I feel bad too. I’m angry. I’m furious with the traitors in my life who leave me holding the flag of principle because they want to go jump in someone’s pants.

This issue is one of the few that have rubbed me raw. It’s left a very sore spot and short fuse. (As if you couldn’t tell.) And sure, part of it is because I’m jealous. Sin is fun. If you didn’t care, then why should I? I could have just had my fling. There’s a male pride thing going on where you got there first. Abstinence is frustrating enough without you standing there at the finish line next to the table, an empty plate behind your back and you looking like a combination of satisfaction and guilt.

Those who starved themselves remain sad and hungry, and I’m required to forgive those who went ahead and ate.

Well. I thought I could do it. I thought I could look past all that. I guess I’m just not big enough.

But I wanted to. Oh, I wanted to so badly. I wanted the search to end and for you to be the one. And to be honest, maybe if there were extraordinary things to compensate it could be easier. I think I can create peace and resolution in my mind by reminding myself we wouldn’t have ended up together anyway. I am sorry for the burden you have to bear. I should do so much more to ease your mind on this and to be kind. As a friend, I will. I just don’t think I can do it as your husband.

I’m sorry for those of you this applies to. I’m writing here to vent every dark, despairing, raw thought and emotion percolating inside my mind so it won’t come out later and hurt someone I care about.

To She Who Did Not Wait, Pt. 1

To She Who Did Not Wait, Pt. 2 

June 21, 2012 Posted by | Loneliness, Purity | 2 Comments

#21: Sweet Nothings

Dear Darling,

Do you ever feel like a baboon in a cage, wordlessly grunting and contemplating this still-foreign concept of love? No; I’m sure you’ve been in love before. And to be honest, my dear, I’m jealous of you for it. But remember, we’re still going to crave after that different kind of perfect.

But I find myself looking at love, turning it over and over in my hands like a bright jewel or an unopened gift. I know what’s inside, of course; it’s all humanity speaks of. But to know something and to understand it are two different things. So I find myself thinking of those rainy nights together, and our wedding rings, and dances, and the drowsy, tender nights of comfort between each other when many years have passed and we are intimately acquainted with each other’s ways.

I wonder if you will find me a great romancer. I used to think myself quite the craftsman of humor and laughter. But nowadays, it seems the world has rubbed me raw and left me less cheery. Or, as I wrote before, grave, solemn and cross.

I don’t know what the future holds. But I promise I’ll try.

Here’s a fine example. Sweet nothings. I was thinking about these the other day. You hear and read about them, but no one really says what they are. First of all, it seems a latent contradiction. If it is a spoken word of sweetness, how can it mean nothing? Who could attach a value of nothing to a whispered token of affection? Quite the opposite — such a gift is beyond price!

I’m sure half of its value is the way it’s said. A whisper in the ear can be romantic no matter what, when a word is accompanied by the breath of someone you adore, tickling your ear with love.

But what are they? Just silly variants of “I love you”? Cheesy throwaway lines leftover from bar-hopping days? Bed-bait? I went looking for answers, and found a few purported examples:

– I love how you love me.
– You are my endless melody.
– I’m lost, can you keep me?
– If you were cheese, I’d want to be your macaroni.
–  If I could wish for one thing on this planet, I would wish for your lips to touch mine, without a question, without a sound.
– You are my endless love.
– You are special and wonderful.
– My favorite place to be is inside one of your hugs. 

The advice sites say to check your breath, don’t be overly poetic, and don’t steal lines from movies. Someone else wrote that it didn’t matter, you could say anything in your lover’s ear and it means a lot because you love her. I’m sure just saying “I love you. I love you. I love you.” would suffice.

That’s not good enough for my lady.

I think if I were to whisper sweet nothings in your ear, it would be more special. Something like…

“Do you want to know why I love you? Because you are the most wonderful woman I have ever known. You are everything that is good and wonderful in this world, bound up inside the most beautiful and graceful woman I have ever known. I don’t love you in spite of your wrinkles, freckles and spots — I love you because of them. Every one of them is uniquely you. Every one of them makes you perfect. To me, you are perfect. I cannot begin to tell you how full of joy and wonder I am just to know what it is to love someone as wonderful as you. I can’t believe you chose me to love, but I promise you, now and forever, I will give my all, my everything, to make you happy. I’m nothing without you. You are my all.”

Too scripted? Should I be more random and flippant and playful? Ah well.  We can’t expect to be masters starting off. We’ll have time to learn. We’ll have to teach each other a lot anyway. And if sweet nothings fill your heart with joy, then you will have them.

I promise.

Dear Readers:
I see this letter is somehow the first result on Google when searching for sweet nothings. Maybe it led you to my little trove of letters. If you’re looking for more, I’m still writing at SavedLove.

June 20, 2012 Posted by | Promises | Leave a comment

Who I Need You To Be: Weak

“It ticks just like a Timex
It never lets up on you
Who said life was easy?
The job is never through
It’ll run us ’til we’re ragged
It’ll harden our hearts
And love could use a day of rest
Before we both start falling apart.”
– Keith Urban

Dear Darling,

I need you to be weak.

Does that surprise you? Let me explain.

I don’t mean all the time. I don’t mean the shrinking violet that blanches at the slightest provocation, or the blushing beauty that crumbles at the slightest travail, or faints at the feel of her own pulse. I don’t mean someone that can’t summon grit to cope with the world, or be tough, or open her own pickle jars.

I mean vulnerable.

Don’t misunderstand…I think you should have walls up. It wouldn’t mean anything if you took down your guard so easily and shared the deep and tender feelings of the fragile interior. It has to be earned. And besides, I’m good with walls.

But I need you to be vulnerable. I don’t need you always putting on the poker face and being a stoic to deal with life’s tragedies. I need you to have the excitement and enthusiasm of a little child. I need you to be bright and cheery and encouraging sometimes. And yes, when you are down, I need to see that too. I want to see it. I want to see the heartache, the sadness, the depression. Those emotions are rare and precious, and although they hurt, they hurt in a place deep down inside of us, a place that few emotions actually can reach. I want to earn your trust so completely that you escort me even into those places.

They tell me that a woman just feels down sometimes. She doesn’t want a lecture on why life is good. She just wants her man to wrap his arms around her and tell her everything is going to be okay. See? I’ve been paying attention! I’ve been trying to learn.

Life is all rot, you know that. It’s going to point at something shiny on the ground and then rip the rug out from under us so we fall. Then it comes up and kicks us while we’re down, and throws dust in our eyes. It’s brutal and merciless. It’ll beat us until we’re ragged and breathless. We’ll have to lean on each other, two battered and broken beings trying to make our way like, as the song says, two sparrows in a hurricane.

I will be good at reading you. I’ll know when you’re down. I can’t promise I won’t always have my vision clouded by my own troubles, or be hurt you didn’t rush to soothe mine, but I’ll do my best.

But I won’t lie, sometimes you might have to tell me. Sometimes you might have to completely stop talking until the silence alarms me and I look at you, or you might just have to catch my eye, walk right into my personal body space (do you think such a thing will even exist for us after marriage?) and grab my gaze and say “hold me.”

I will.

Maybe you can teach me how too. Men don’t like to be vulnerable. We don’t like to admit our inabilities or weaknesses. We want to be independent and strong, because the moment we lean on something we’re no longer trusting ourselves. We’re risking. We’re being vulnerable, we’re trusting that something we’re putting our weight on won’t bottom out and leave us falling or hurting. We’re investing, and with it comes that risk of loss or hurt. And then there’s that whole guy image to maintain. But I’m willing to learn…I think.

Is any of this making sense? I want you to be guarded. I won’t mind scaling the walls. But you have to let down your hair for me to climb, and the window has to be open when I get there. It doesn’t have to be all gold and glitter.

I’ll take the sad with the happy, as long as it’s you.

June 19, 2012 Posted by | Who I Need You To Be | 1 Comment

In Anticipation of…Rings

Dear Darling,

I’ve never worn much jewelry. Men are into that sort of thing nowadays, aren’t they. It’s the “metrosexual” thing. A silver bracelet, or a cross necklace, maybe a bead or charm band or a ring of some sort?

I’ve never done any of that. You know me well enough by now to know there’s more retro than metro to my sexual.

That’s why wearing a ring is just another facet of this alien experience called love. I know one of these days you’re going to pick out a golden band to put on my finger, something that I’ll wear forever. It will become part of my life, my DNA. It will clink against water glasses I sip from, channel the winter’s chill, reflect an afternoon sunset. It will be just a small taste of you I carry forever bound around my finger.

I hope I don’t wind up fidgeting with it, at least not in such a way that I remove it or dishonor it. I’ll have that little gold circlet as an emblem of your love until I die. And beyond. I may not be able to take it to heaven with me, but they can bury me in it. Unless you remain and wish to keep it, in which case you may by all means do so.

And I’ll buy you a ring. Here’s something you may not yet know about me Darling, but I used to work at a jewelry counter. Oh yes, with precious, valuable and fine diamonds, pearls and rings of every kind! I held up rings to a loupe to examine the sparkle, cut and clarity, though I was by no means an estimator of value. Many of the rings were overpriced, and many were set at a decent price and still beyond my means. But one of these days, I’ll pick out one of those priceless (and yet, all too-priced) rings for you — though gladly — as a symbol of our unity.

Will you like the traditional gold and diamond? Would you prefer something different and unique? I hope you have some in mind Darling, because how will I ever pick among the choices offered? I suspect you will be happy to give me hints as the doubt gives way to clarity. I’ll do my best to honor you with my choice, and I’m sure you’ll pretend to love it even if you don’t. Maybe you’ll like it just because of what it represents. Anyway, it won’t be a cheap ring, and it won’t be anything to make you ashamed to show your family and friends. I’m sure it will hear its fair share of cooing and squealing.

Oh, but there’s two rings, aren’t there? The engagement ring is the fancy one, and the wedding ring is of plainer gold? And this carried gingerly on a pillow by a flower girl down the aisle.

“With this ring, I thee wed.”

Does it sound archaic to you? I’m quite fond of archaic, you know. “The old that is strong does not whither, deep roots are not reached by the frost.”

What powerful symbolism and imagery these rings are…adornments of significance, almost as if we brand one another and claim each other as our own.

I don’t mind wearing your brand in the least, and I rather prefer to be called your own, if I in turn may call you mine.

Until then, I remain

Forever yours,

June 13, 2012 Posted by | Anticipation, Our Wedding | Leave a comment

The Very Air We Breathe

Dear Darling,

I guess spring really is a hard time for unwilling bachelors.

Love (or the animal kingdom’s version of it) is everywhere — nature itself is saturated with the male and female in pursuit of each other.

The crickets’ chirp is a mating call. The firefly’s glow is to attract a mate. The birds aflutter in midair are courting. The rabbits leaping on the lawn are getting set to make more. The flowers and plants bloom brightly to attract the bees and birds — so they can be pollinated.

The very air you breathe is laced will allergens and dusts of plants spreading their seed.

Out on the roads, the male of our kind drives fast cars or motorcycles, windows or tops down, sunglasses on, driving to impress. The female of the species dresses in such a way as to evoke interest at the lowest common level.

We’re not animals, but let’s face it, we were given instinct that borders on that of beasts. It doesn’t help to be surrounded by it all. I saw a little mother mouse and her new little brood (micelets?) today. On a more sanitary level, a baby rabbit came out to graze.

Is this how Adam felt?


June 10, 2012 Posted by | Loneliness | Leave a comment

Strange and Sundry Thoughts

“I hear the ticking of the clock
I’m lying here, the room’s pitch dark 
I wonder where you are tonight
No answer on the telephone 
And the night goes by so very slow…
Oh I hope that it won’t end, though… 
– Heart 

Dear Darling,

It’s unseasonably chilly outdoors tonight. The moon’s light is reluctantly waning, and I had to grab a jacket to stay warm while walking, thinking many strange and sundry thoughts.

I’m thinking about you first off. About how I don’t know who you are and wishing I did. About how I wonder if you’re hiding behind the faces that walk in my waking world, and how much I need you to just come out and make yourself known. We’re wasting too much time not being in each other’s arms. I always knew I’d have to earn your love. I just didn’t think as much about how I wouldn’t know at first if yours was the love to earn.

I wonder if God must either give a man the gift of celibacy or the gift of a wife…and if it isn’t cruel to withhold them both.

I’m wondering if God has picked you out, wonderfully distinct and uniquely you, and it’s just a matter of time until He introduces us — or if, by some dread and horror, this is one of those “free will” things where He will allow ME to choose. I submit this to Him, the God who can see all ends, and ask Him to bring me the woman who will best help me serve Him, and who I can make happiest, and who can make me happiest. What a frightful thought to leave my future up to my own judgment!

I’m thinking about how people say I’m not as happy as I used to be. I wonder if I even know how to be happy or relax.

I’m thinking about how there’s a difference between who I aspire to be and who I enjoy being, and how I’m torn between those two and may never find a happy medium. The world bites. It’s a sad and grim place, full of crimes and consequences. I see the terrible decisions people make, and I internalize them. It hurts me, and it shouldn’t. It isolates me because I don’t act like that. It makes me grave and solemn and cross. It’s hard to be happy and I don’t know how to change that. They say you can’t expect a woman’s love to cure all your troubles, but being without you is the only thing that really makes me unhappy. I’m trying not to suppose that finding you will cure all woes.

I’m thinking of a woman (or two) who did not wait, and how we might have been married by now if they had. About how I can still feel conflicted feelings of attachment or attraction, and how it tears me up that I missed out on such a wonderful thing otherwise…and so did she. I’m wishing I’d had more time to at least experience the joy of a relationship before it ended.

I’m thinking about how I want so badly to yell and scream at the traitors who so eagerly renounce their vows and and leap into the waiting jaws of sin below. I’m angry with them for leaving me alone. I’m angry with them for disobeying. And I’m jealous that they have so much fun in the process. Proverbs 23 says “Do not let your heart envy sinners, but always be zealous for the fear of the Lord. There is surely a future hope for you, and your hope will not be cut off.” I’m trying to hold to that.

I’m thinking about how many girls have expressed interest in me that just haven’t seemed right, and how it’s fallen to me to tell them so.

I’m thinking about the people who literally look at me with wonder and awe — or like some kind of relic — when they find out I’m still waiting for my future bride. Several coworkers were amazed the other day. Again. They were all cooing that I was going on a date, and even asking me my thoughts on their relationship status, or whether or not I would take for a wife someone who had children already.

I think about our families, and that slow, awkward process of introducing them and seeing how they all get along…or don’t. How are we ever going to decide which families to holiday with?

I’m thinking about our pets, and how I’m going to woo yours just to remind you that even your most trusted pet approves of me.

I’m thinking about birthdays, and the joy of surprising you with gifts.

I’m thinking about our wedding, and wonder if I will have many friends to pack the pews with. I’ve often thought my funeral would be sparsely attended too.

I’m thinking about how, darn it, I just cannot wait to get my hands on you on our honeymoon and make up for lost time. A close friend advised me not to take you anywhere exotic on our honeymoon, because maybe we will be too busy to notice the scenery.

I’m thinking about how I’m going to take care of you when you’re sick.

I’m thinking of you with a baby on the way, or in your arms and nursing.

I’m wondering if you like chest hair or prefer something smoother.

I’m thinking about how fast our relationship could bloom. I can be a quick mover when I want to be. Back when I bought a car, I looked and looked while saving money. For months I searched. When I found the one I wanted, I took a day to have it looked at, do the background checks and proper vetting — and then dropped cash on the spot and drove it home. Just like that. I don’t get hung up on possessions, but a car (truck, really) is a valuable part of a man’s identity and I’m grateful for it. I think you’d be proud of it. It’s safe, reliable, dependable and there’s lots of room for our kids. It even has the sun roof.

It’s a portrait of so many things in life. For quite some time I suffered the slings and arrows of a very modest (humiliating) car. Now the car I drive, though not new, is better than the one most people drive. I wait for the right one to come along, and seize the opportunity when it does. I save up for it, while others are involved with something that really isn’t theirs. My decision to hold off makes other people jealous. The cruel part of me wants them to pine and yearn for that which they foreclosed on — and I don’t just mean cars. For years I drove that humiliating car and was made fun of for waiting. I guess it’s wrong to want vengeful vindication.

I’m just angry enough to want to return their mockery by twisting their regrets in their guts for not waiting, because at least our wedding night will be momentous. I’m just patient enough to want them to see that it was worth it, and how they’ll never know or see, or have what we’ll have.

I’m thinking about how love is a verb — and a choice.

I’m thinking of how I simply can’t wait to find the peace and excitement of knowing you, and to finally feel like it will all be worth it when you read these letters and your heart brims over with joy over the love I’ve been saving up for you.

I’m thinking about how I truly, madly, earnestly, deeply and passionately I miss you and love you.


June 7, 2012 Posted by | Loneliness, Nights Like These, Our Wedding, Purity | 1 Comment

In Anticipation of…Oneness

“Two hearts, believing in just one mind
Beating together till the end of time
You know we’re two hearts believing in just one mind
Together forever till the end of time…”
Phil Collins 

Genesis tells us marriage is the reason a man leaves his parents for a wife, and the two become one flesh.

It’s not just talking about sex. “Intercourse” — whose meaning is now almost exclusively sexual — merely used to mean interaction and interchange. There’s more to the picture than sex. There’s two entire lives we’re talking about. There’s atmospheres and gravities and orbits.

Becoming one is an ongoing process of merging and becoming one union — a process that will take our entire lives. That’s what marriage and sex symbolize, a unique and special oneness shared among two separate and distinct beings. We know little to nothing about each other now. We’ll gradually meet and ask each other a few simple details, and these will delve deeper and we’ll gradually learn our family histories and life stories.

Our knowledge will merge.

We will begin planning our lives and schedules around each other. We might begin checking with each other not before we meet, but before we don’t. We’ll begin doing things together more often than apart. When you hear a song you think I’ll like, you’ll send it my way. When I read a funny story in the news, I’ll have to share it with you. We’ll start finishing each other’s sentences, texting at the same time, sharing that knowing look of significance, knowing the same idea or joke hit us at the same time.

Our lives will merge.

We’ll become that sacred we, that conjugation of two worlds.

One day I’ll drop to one knee and ask you to share the rest of your life with me. We’ll get married.

In symbolism, our presences merge.

Then the fun begins. Our very futures will merge.

We’ll have to learn the hard way how to navigate each other’s personal ticks and pet peeves. Will we have the toilet seat down/toilet seat up debate? Toothpaste? Kitchen arrangement? Laundry? Furniture? Bedroom or bathroom? All those stereotypical marital nuances that feed such a rich fodder to late-night sitcoms could become the fodder for argument.

But gradually we’ll sort through it. We’ll learn to make concessions, we’ll work around our differences. We’ll settle into a synchronous harmony.

Gosh I can’t wait for that. I can’t to grow old with you, I can’t wait until the veneer of the unknown strips away and we are incurably comfortable around each other, completely at ease. We’ll begin to know each other and each other’s behaviors in an intimate way. You’ll be able to read my moods and expressions, and I yours. We might be reading or working in the same room. Suddenly each of us has the same idea, and we look up from minutes or even hours of silence with the sudden occurrence of a common and mutual thought — maybe even something as simple and alarming as “Where’s the baby?”

We’re going to become so close that if and when one of us precedes the other in death, it will be like the one has lost half of themselves. That unification is not reversible, not completely.

But you see, I’m already missing half of me. I know I am. I’m sure everyone feels lonely, but sometimes I wonder if everyone who is single feels this lonely, or is this aware of what’s missing. How else could they cope? Maybe I’m just less equipped to handle it. I know for sure that I was not appointed to walk God’s road alone. Yet just as the road is appointed, so must the companion. That should give you some comfort, Darling, that you are appointed and called and summoned. Our rendezvous is inexorable.

I’m loving you until the day I can love you to your face.

Yours always,

June 5, 2012 Posted by | Anticipation | Leave a comment


A single tear rolled down my cheek tonight.

It was just over some stupid movie — a lovey-dovey snuggle film. I’ll eat those silly flicks like popcorn when you and I are together. For now, it just hurt…like watching couples that hug and kiss and flirt and caress in public.

But that tear was welcome. Why is it that movies can touch me and make me cry when life can’t?

Why can’t I feel? Could it be that I fear happiness? Why do all these questions rise up in my mind? How could I have unresolved feelings for more than one person, and yet not feel as if any of those feelings were whole and complete?

Could it be that I must stop loving and nurturing this idea of you, or else risk never finding the You fated to become the addressee of these letters? Are you hiding from me, disguised inside someone who won’t look like you at first?

How can others go through so much pain and trial and suffering that I have never experienced, and yet I’m the sad one troubled by life? What right have I to be troubled or unhappy when I’ve lived a life that’s the envy of so many? I’ve been given broad shoulders, but it’s as if I can’t use them for me, only for others.

How can I feel so behind and yet so ahead of everyone — and so behind and ahead in life? Is this really what was designed for me?

How can I feel so lost and yet so found at the same time? What is this mixture of fear and hope, pride and despair, perception and ignorance, greatness and inferiority, uncertainty and confidence, wisdom and foolishness, weakness and strength all bound up together inside the same scrambled and weary mind? How can I feel like such a child and yet so ancient at the same time?

Why can’t I release a past that isn’t mine? Why do strings from the past still tug as strongly on my heart as if a literal wire were fitted inside of it? Shadows from the pasts of others shouldn’t cling to me like this…I can’t always be wanting the very things I know I can neither have nor accept.

When pilots lose their bearings in the clouds and the dark, they cannot rely on feeling. They must rely on their tools and guidance. But what if the only way to know what’s right is by feeling? Or do you go ahead with what you know, and wait for feeling to catch up?

And what happens when you don’t get the answers in time?

June 3, 2012 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment