Letters to Luthien

Letters to My Future Bride

Front Porch Musings

Dear Darling,

I’m back on the front porch again, slowly rocking back and forth on the swing as I study the papers in front of me. The goal was to be out here and free of distractions, but it seems everyone is taking advantage of the unseasonable warmth. Motorcycles buzz by, a neighbor or two mill about, and the renegade mosquito or two are happily combing me for their next meal.

The sun is coating everything in an afternoon honey glaze, forcing me to retrieve my camera and capture some of this microscopic autumn beauty. There is unspoken poetry in nature. The leaves are gently dropping one by one from the trees, and I wonder if the leaf lets go first, or the trees. Then I think about how that’s a profound thought, and I’ll have to remember to tell you that.

And voila, suddenly I’m thinking about you again. I’m thinking about how you and I are hurtling along through time, apart from each other. I’m thinking about how the past is so fixed, the present is so fleeting, and the future is so uncertain, pregnant with joys and heartaches yet untold.

I wonder if the reward I’ve tried to be worthy of is simply the lack of negative consequences which I see evident in the lives of those who compromise…and hoping that the ending is actually the presence of joy, not the absence of unhappiness.

Fast forward to tonight. A fire and a movie on a dreary autumn evening, a bowl of ice cream in my hand and a cold rain falling outside. For some reason, I don’t feel like a black and white movie. I want my night to live in color, and take me somewhere other than this. It’s funny how today is my only day without obligation. Life is pretty hectic. It’s a game of whack-a-mole, and there’s so many that the end result is many of them are getting less than adequate whacks. You would laugh if I told you what is contained in my idea of a day off. I’ve had people tell me how I go nonstop, and am an overachiever. The problem is, inertia is a harsh mistress. The one day I have off, I busy myself with the million other tasks I assign myself, the mundane and splendid duties of life for a young bachelor like myself. Maybe one day, I should try just going and taking a nap under a tree in a pasture somewhere.

And now I’m here, wanting (as usual) to talk to you, and instead my lips are silent as my fingers and mind do the talking. Imagine if I had this energy to invest in you, Love. The friends I invest in (apparently poorly), my political work, my schooling, my writing, my jobs, my family, all might take a back seat to you.

I’m thinking about the people who were interested in me, but went away when I wasn’t interested back. Then they find a new boyfriend, and there’s part of me that’s mad and jealous of them. I could have made a minimum of efforts and secured someone the world considers amazing. But I knew they weren’t for me. So why annoyed when they quickly move on? What’s that all about? It’s like a child that has no interest in a toy until another child does. Part of me feels thoroughly less special (how do people settle into a relationship so quickly?) and I guess the rest is just jealousy.

I’m anticipating the things that are going to feel so right and so easy for us. The kisses. The elation that someone I’m interested in likes me back. The burgeoning amazement when we find we have so much in common, and so much more that is new to each of us…new, yet attractive and beautiful and admirable. The inside jokes, the senses of humor we share.

I’m thinking about how much fun we’ll have exploring each other’s stories when we meet, and when we’re married. I want to hear all about your childhood, I want to see the pictures and the home video. I want to hear it all. The pets you lost. The memories you made. Your crushes. Your 15 minutes of fame. How you spent your holidays. Your parents and siblings and friends. The houses you lived in.

I’m thinking you and I will enjoy inspecting each other for marks and bumps and scars, the stories of a lifetime. I’ve got a few to tell you about, but I’ll leave them to you to find…the scar from falling out of the top bunk years ago, or the remnants of a years-old spider bite.

I’m seeing the dreary welcome weather set in, and thinking of Enya’s lament, If I Could Be Where You Are that I posted nearly a year ago. I’m thinking of so many other things I want to say to you, notes I’m making for future letters.

I’m thinking about how you’ll make me learn about myself, and yet make me forget about myself.

And finally Darling, I’m sitting here tonight and thinking…I don’t know how not to want you.

Love always,

October 27, 2012 Posted by | Loneliness, Nights Like These, Sundry Thoughts | 1 Comment