Letters to Luthien

Letters to My Future Bride

Waking Up

04. Afonin, Pavel - LoveDear Darling,

It was early this morning when I slowly woke to a bird cheerfully whistling outside the window. I’d like to say the sun was streaming around the window canopy, but what light there was seemed dim, as if was either cloudy or just too early for the sun. I’m laying in this bed so generously large it’s cruel, imagining us waking together in the mornings, the sweetly familiar ecstasy of greeting another morning and finding each other still there to face it side by side.

A fresh dawn means a fresh start, and I hope whatever quarrels, qualms or questions from the night before have slowly burned themselves out during the night. I hope I’ll roll over and whisper a smile into your ear, which quickly works its way to your lips where mine will be there to meet it. I’ll reach my arm around your waist, or behind your neck to pull you in for a kiss. I’ll roll you towards me and feel your hair all around me, our goofy morning laughter repeatedly punctuated with uncounted kisses.

I’ll revel in your love, drinking it in and breathing it like air. I’ll crave it like a drug and hoard it like a miser. I’ll remind you how long I’ve waited, how happy you’ve made me, how much I love you. I’ll use every word I can to express my love until your heart brims over, until you feel like you can’t take it anymore, until we’ve talked ourselves into a full-blown state of quivering adoration and desire.

Breakfast can wait. Work can wait. Shoot, it’s made me wait this long, let life wait! Let the whole frigging world wait. I’ve had enough of it, and it’s made me wait this long.

I’m trying to console myself with thoughts like this, closing my eyes and reminding myself. I’ve done for so long that its eventual realization will doubtless feel peculiar to me. Someday starts to feel so far away sometimes…

“Are you sure your standards aren’t so high that no one can meet them?” a friend recently asked. I met her for a bite to eat just to be there for her, because her husband abruptly left her and she needed a friend and godly influence. (I even shared the gospel with her, though it seemed to fall on unfertile ground.)

Friends, loved ones and even close family have posed the same question. I’ve even been told there is no such thing as falling in love, and that anyone who places stock in such feelings lack a true foundation, mistaking infatuation for a bond of affection. But since when has surety accompanied love? Feelings come and go, of course, but is it so much to hope that the same woman who can complement me and reflect my faith can also ignite my heart and share the biggest crush with me?

Well anyway. I don’t know why I woke so early. My mind simply decided it’d had its rest, and as I realized I wouldn’t be going back to sleep, my eyes rested on my laptop with the cheerful and simultaneous realization that I wanted to spend time with you, and writing you a letter was the next best thing.

I’ve been working pretty hard the past few weeks, and it seems sometimes to deplete that inspiration to write. But then, I think you can understand how putting money in the bank may be of greater benefit to our future life together than whiling away the hours on these fanciful writings.

But dash it, those summer nights! Those darn, darn summer nights! Those nights when the wind dares and the stars beckon, where you want to find an empty road or deserted mesa, a vacant field to gaze skyward, a tree to climb, a game to play, a movie to watch…just something to do. These are some of those times where there’s an impatient little kid inside of me hating the delay. Ideas hit me, but there isn’t anyone to share them with, no one to justify acting on these crazy impulses. (For example, tonight while driving home, I opened the sun roof and let the rain come down on me.)

I truly don’t understand how I can feel so bored and restless on these nights. I worked a lot early on the week, I went to movies, met with my family, met with a friend, went out for ice cream with two others, and participated in community safety simulations three days this week. And yet I still found myself bored. I once mentioned this to a friend, saying it’s almost like I require constant stimulation. They replied “sounds like your future wife has her work cut out for her.” That she does.

I went to an antique mall today. Or maybe it was a knick-knack shop. It’s just the perfect place to go if you want to buy assorted DVDs, books, bottles with a print painting of American Gothic, old furniture, mini busts of Abraham Lincoln or Venus de Milo, wine racks, cheese slicers, poker chips, prom dresses, toy cars or bird houses. There are racks of costume jewelry and knives and tea sets and magazines, and behind a glass case I spy an exact duplicate of a small and aged cap pistol I once owned. It was a rather enchanting place, my dear, and before I knew it, an hour was gone. I wandered among the booths, fascinated by all the relics of lifetimes gone by.

There’s thousands of pieces here, and a million memories. That’s what it was…a memory shop. What fun we would have had in there, and what conversations we could have had, combing through the treasures, gasping at new finds, marveling at others. I shouldn’t have gone. I went to look, and came out with four books and a painting. But it’s my favorite, Edmond Blair Leighton’s The Accolade.

All this life I’m living…all these things I’m doing. Why do I feel that, until you get here, it’s just going through the motions?

I’m here, Darling. Chasing you through time, pursuing you as eagerly as blind future allows, waiting for the day I can step out from behind the curtain, the day I can tell you I’m the one you’ve been looking for. Don’t stop waiting, and don’t stop looking, because one day I’ll be there, and I hope you’ll be ready.

Love ever,

June 30, 2013 Posted by | Uncategorized | 1 Comment

Left Turns

Dear Darling,

It’s one in the morning. I came to the end of the driveway again, and once again, I turned left. This time, I went down to the river. There’s an old restaurant down there, not far from the water’s edge. I ate there once, but the memory is dim and the place has long since been abandoned. It’s a bright moon, and nearly a full one tonight, and I thought maybe I could sit by the water’s edge. It wasn’t quite what I expected. I couldn’t go down to the water’s edge, the brush was too grown up. But nestled within those branches were hundreds of fireflies, sparkling as if fairy-dust was twinkling in the thickets. There were no sounds of the river, except the occasional splash of some creature beyond the underbrush on the opposite edge.

It was illuminated by a street light, which cast a pallid amber glow over the scene. It was a wide pull-off, and quite one-sided since the other side of the road was a sheer rock wall of a few hundred feet. (There are caves in those walls, but no one knows what’s in them, they’re all fenced off, and unlikely to harbor any adventures.)

There’s a gazebo there, and many benches. It’s untended and unkempt. There’s a great oak, and wrought-iron gateways in the middle of the clearing, not unlike a cemetery, but leading to nowhere.

I drove on for a ways, but that’s the lowest point in the road, nowhere else could I find a quiet clearing by the river side. On the bridge, I at least glimpsed the moonlight palisades before heading on home.

Why did I go? Well first because I wanted to find some peace and solitude. In that, I did not succeed. Second, I wanted to have something to tell you about tonight. And third, I like “left turns” — serendipitous decisions made for their own sake. They’re just placeholder excursions until you get here.

We’ve got a lot of our own Left Turns to make one day, and as I sit here tonight I’m trying very hard to think of who you might be and how you might contrive to enjoy them. What happens if we have three or four days free, and nothing to do but enjoy each other’s company? We need to choose a location as our Left Turn getaway…a place far from the world and its troubles, our own hidden cove and secret getaway. There’s something exciting and invigorating about a full tank of gas, a free few days and the prospect of an escape for its own sake. I’d be given to them quite often, although these little late-night side trips accomplish no purpose and I have no mind to let anyone else know I take them.

I found and saved an inexpensive lakeside cabin I found the other day. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to find a cabin alone in the woods together? To take walks, hikes, pictures? To plot our retreat where time stands still, to make history and dreams come true, claiming the reward for which each has toiled in patience so long; to do nothing but sit on a front porch in a misty wood and watch the sun set, and watch the fireflies come out while we perfect our art of kissing; softly sharing secrets, reading, getting cheeky and naughty with each other; finding some empty pool or lake, swimming together in the dark with naught but what we were born in; making love under the stars.

Maybe we can hop a flight and find a beach house somewhere away from people.

We have a lot of left-turns to plan, and a fair share of them that I’ll randomly and enthusiastically propose. I hope you’re open to some daring serendipity in the future, because if nights like tonight are any indication, we have some fun excursions in our future!

Love always,

June 22, 2013 Posted by | Left Turns, Nights Like These | Leave a comment

A Lonely Kiss Goodnight

07. Adolf 'Jodolfi' - A Passionate KissDear Darling,

Sixty hours takes a toll on body and mind, and an insufficient sleep schedule mingled with loneliness is an unwise concoction.

I dined at home for Father’s Day and all was well. Heading out the driveway, I paused. To the right was the swift and familiar way home. To the left, the deserted country road which took me exactly the opposite direction but would rebound to take me home. To the right was efficiency and practicality, and all good sense pointed that direction. To the left, solitude, solace, contemplation and wasted gas.

Loneliness does strange things to you — I turned left.

I rolled down the windows to smell the damp air, hear the dripping trees and see the night stars. The night was cool and every song reminded me of you. For a half-moment I considered driving all the way down to the river, but the turn had passed.

I think I just wanted something new. Once the road rounded to take me home, I turned off again and took yet another detour home. One day I will enjoy guiding you down these roads, or finding others on which to get lost.

I showered by the light of a single candle, and sat down to write a letter. But I felt listless and without inspiration. My book and even the internet, in all its entirety, felt dull. Sleep, though undesirable, felt the only remaining option.

I thought about the morning, during the shallow services of the mega-church which employs me. I felt a strange disinclination to pray this morning. A colleague was supposed to substitute for me and allow me to find some other church which lent depth to its worship and teaching, but she forgot, obligating my presence. Darling, they advertised their phone line by which you can text your prayers! Is this not merely a cheap gimmick of the 21st century seeker-friendly church which cheats the meaning of the fellowship of believers?

I found myself greeting the usual colleagues, before sequestering myself in a vacant prayer room with my phone and my book. I felt that I should take advantage of the time and spend some of it in prayer; but…I didn’t feel like it. This concerned me, as if it were a trick of the devil to draw me off from the Father. A pace and employment of this nature seems already to lend to such a conspiracy, which is why I try to spend time in His Word, and to listen to truth through solid sermons during showers or meals. Then I realized that, perhaps, setting and context had some bearing on the matter. This feels a house of fakery at times, or at least gimmickery, and with such loud performances and crowded hallways, it took away from prayer.

So tonight, upon closing the lid, I knelt to pray.

There is often a quandary set up between maintaining decorum before the Father of All, and the honesty of showing a true heart. We must become less ourselves and more the people God wants us to be, and yet surely He wants to hear us as we really are; since He sees our heart of hearts already, to pretend to be more or less is to be dishonest. But I sought to be thankful for the many blessings I have, and then admitted I felt dead and dull and uninspired tonight. I felt that even your touch and love wouldn’t cure it.

I then sought to return to what I should be, and scrolled through friends to pray for them. Of course, scrolling past the people who are married, engaged, in relationships or having babies, or one or two of my near-misses, or the ones who left the path of wisdom, served little to cheer my spirits. (As if that was the goal, but when your reservoir is this empty, what is the good of depleting it further?)

I crawled into bed and found my way to the disconsolate jazz of Chet Atkins, beginning with A Fool To Want You. A small spark lit inside my heart; the image of you leaning over to kiss me. It roared to life and flushed through my body, a craving stronger than anything I’ve felt this day. It seems, if given the choice to feel pain or feel nothing, I would choose this bittersweet pain every time, for I don’t know when I’ve been beset by so great a longing, merely for a kiss. Just a kiss! Never have I wanted something more. But we both know a kiss isn’t just a kiss, or it wouldn’t be so powerfully longed-for. Perhaps your touch would have cured these doldrums after all.

We must both bear the ongoing pain of being apart, of course, but until then my dear, light a single candle in the dark, wrap your arms around your shoulders, close your eyes, and imagine us slow-dancing to these songs, and their meanings, knowing that I Waited For You, and I am Almost BlueEvery Time We Say Goodbye.

Then imagine being put to bed with a gentle kiss, behind which smolders every pent-up ember and unseen flame of my love for you.

“Good-night, good-bye. God bless you, dear, and give you love, and joy, and cheer!”


June 17, 2013 Posted by | Loneliness | , , | Leave a comment


22. Millais, John Everett - Love

“I am tired to-night, and something,
The wind maybe, or the rain,
Or the cry of a bird in the copse outside,
Has brought back the past and its pain.

And I feel, as I sit here thinking,
That the hand of a dead old June
Has reached out hold of my heart’s loose strings,
And is drawing them up in tune.

I am tired to-night, and I miss you,
And long for you, love, through tears;
And it seems but to-day that I saw you go—
You, who have been gone for years.
And I seem to be newly lonely—
I, who am so much alone;
And the strings of my heart are well in tune,
But they have not the same old tone.

I am tired; and that old sorrow
Sweeps down the bed of my soul,
As a turbulent river might sudden’y break
way from a dam’s control.
It beareth a wreck on its bosom,
A wreck with a snow-white sail;
And the hand on my heart strings thrums away,
But they only respond with a wail.”

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

June 17, 2013 Posted by | Nights Like These, Poems | , , , | Leave a comment

Sundry Thoughts for June, Pt. 2

Dear Darling,

It’s as beautiful a June night as you could ask for. There’s a crescent moon hanging high, the air is a perfect 75 degrees, and the humidity is just right.

I finished up work this morning, showered, ate and slept for six hours before going to the second job. I met some friends afterward for dinner, then visited an acquaintance in the hospital. And at the end of the day, as if I should be surprised, I found thoughts of you waiting.

As I pulled out of the lot, that familiar urge to grab my phone and call you sunk in. And I felt like I should already know you, we should already be at the place where I can pick up the phone and call you. (You’ll be able to expect calls from me with some reliability, you know.) And then I thought even better, that you should be here for us to turn up the music and find some back roads to drive through.

It’s been a long week. By week’s end, I’ll have logged a little over sixty hours. Sometimes it feels like simply reliving the same day. Some nights it’s like living in slow motion.

The other day I was driving in and thought about how a little from you would go a long way. I thought if I could just get a pat on the back, a “hang in there” and a kiss goodbye, I’d be set for the next 72 hours, no matter how difficult. And then I think that maybe I’ll have that same power over you. That maybe taking you into my arms, looking you squarely in the eyes, cupping your face in my hands and reminding you that you’ll be alright, better than alright, amazing. Maybe I’ll have the ability to lift you ten feet off the ground with a touch. Maybe a little from me will go a long way. 

I came home the next day, a little tired, and found a note from a friend of my roommate’s, scheduled to come to the house to do some work. I try to avoid being alone with single women behind closed doors, but that wasn’t entirely practical, and impropriety was not even close to the scene. It’s rare to discover a note with my name on it, courteously informing me of the next time she was planning to come. A small thing, perhaps, professional and scarcely affectionate, but it made me smile that while I slept, she thought of me enough to leave me a note.

The word “love” came to my mind unbidden during a quiet period of time at work. As if I would voluntarily bid that unkind sentiment to arise in my mind! I wonder if I have ever been loved by anyone outside of family, whose affections or at least obligations are somewhat compulsory. I wonder if either of us really know what love means…and I wonder what it’s going to look like when I can finally tell you that for the first time, and watch your response.

Lately it seems like the people who talk to me, who listen and are friends, are drifting away or creating distance, and it makes me miss you more. At times, I feel like I’m repeating ideas in these letters, reaching out to you in them because talking at you is the closest thing to talking with you. I reread them sometimes — often in fact. Some of them seem rather poorly-written in retrospect, but I dearly hope you’ll cherish them as much as I think.

Times of testing makes us stronger, my love. To be stretched beyond endurance…to have faith that the sufferings of solitude have no comparison, that better days are in store, the kind to make us forget nights like this, and yet sufficient to make all their agony sweeter and worthwhile.

Good-night, my beautiful darling. I love you.


June 16, 2013 Posted by | Nights Like These, Sundry Thoughts | Leave a comment

Sundry Thoughts for June

24. Reynolds, Graham - Alone At LastDear Darling,

A week’s vacation goes a long way. I feel energized and motivated. I started making my summer to-do list, and it sort of turned into a bucket list. There’s no way I’ll have time to do all the things on that thing. But that’s okay, it saves some of them to do together.

I smiled at the rain as I left the church tonight I’m sure I made a strange sight tonight, walking into the restaurant alone with my computer bag in hand, choosing a table, ordering, sitting alone with a novel in front of me and a yellow legal pad on which I made my list. Some of it is about priorities. God is at the top of the list. Then work, exercise, reading, writing and a plethora of activities including learning to be a lifeguard, resuming martial arts, learning to drive stick shift, advancing my piano skills (which at the moment have dwindled to very little I’m afraid), planning a camping trip, and multiple other activities. I have three destinations remaining on my summer travel list, two celebrations to shop for, a class to schedule, and so many other things besides. I love planning all this, and the thought that I’ll actually do it, but I’m sure fatigue will find its way between the lines of the list.

It kind of already has. (Haven’t you ever felt energized and tired at the same time?) While I was gone, I was with people the whole time. As I said, the shadow of your future memory was with me, but only a shadow. But now I’m back, and you aren’t here. The lonely songs are on the radio again, and I’m starting to miss you more. It’s not a cheerless despair, it’s merely the disappointment of waking from a dream and finding it not real…and the bittersweet of knowing one day it will be. It’s laying all these plans, seeing all these possibilities written out on paper, becoming a better man, citizen and person, but realizing I can’t put your arrival on the calendar…even as I know it could come at any time.

That’s the funny thing about love right now. It’s the perfect conjugation of ignorance and knowledge. I know by proxy, by reason, by extension, by deduction and by instinct that love exists, but it doesn’t reside in my heart yet. I know it exists but I don’t feel it to exist. At times I can hear the echo where it should be; at times I feel phantom pangs as if it were once there, and has renewed its sense of absence. It’s an innate, deep-seated, visceral feeling. It doesn’t emanate from my core…it is my core. Or rather, my missing core. My cordis in absentia. The resulting loneliness, the waiting and the working and the writing all rolled together, wear on the heart just a little.

It’s okay though. It’s just the loneliness resumed, dulled by sunshine, sand and seawater. It’s no different than the other burdens of life I’m resuming. And anyway, it’s a comfort to know such a strength — and weakness — burns in me still.

I’ve made my way through two novels in the last few weeks, and have begun a third. I completed another article (interview, really), am progressing on two more, and have two more ideas on hold. I’ve noted before that I often go at a breakneck speed through life. I’ve got a lot going on, you know that. But I have to admit…I love it.

A dear friend of mine had a baby, long-anticipated. Indeed, I was among the first few taken into confidence about the newly-expected arrival. When she texted the picture, I can’t explain why but I was so proud and happy for her, with no room for envy or sadness, and my eyes got a little misty. The bark is tough, but I really am a sap underneath. Maybe that’s how it will feel to be a father one day. And isn’t it kind of exciting to know feelings exist that we haven’t felt yet, and are stronger than anything we’ve known before?

I hope you are well and strong, my dear. Remember that God is present even in times when we feel Him distant, that He has a plan that will not be undone, and that the greatest demonstration of power is surrender. I dare to hope you are using this time as I am, to better yourself and be more disciplined as a vessel for God. I hope you aren’t unhappy tonight; and when you close your eyes to dream, I hope you’ll find yourself on the sands of a gentle beach under a welcoming sun, with me standing by the ocean, waiting for you.

Until then,

June 10, 2013 Posted by | Sundry Thoughts | Leave a comment

If You Were Coming In The Fall

You Can't Put A Time On Love

“If you were coming in the fall,
I’d brush the summer by
With half a smile and half a spurn,
As housewives do a fly.

If I could see you in a year,
I’d wind the months in balls,
And put them each in separate drawers,
Until their time befalls.

If only centuries delayed,
I’d count them on my hand,
Subtracting till my fingers dropped
Into Van Diemen’s land.

If certain, when this life was out,
That yours and mine should be,
I’d toss it yonder like a rind,
And taste eternity.

But now, all ignorant of the length
Of time’s uncertain wing,
It goads me, like the goblin bee,
That will not state its sting.”

-Emily Dickinson

June 10, 2013 Posted by | Poems | , , , , , | Leave a comment

Coming Home

09. Vettriano, Jack - Back Where You Belong

Dear Darling,

What if you had been waiting for me when I returned?

Oh I know it’s a far-fetched idea. We don’t know each other. No matter what arcane notions I have about knowing you when I see you, the truth is we have an elaborate, possibly complicated, maybe even messy path ahead of us in getting to know each other. It’s the uncertainty that makes things so scary — and so exciting.

But I allow the idea to enter my head for fantasy’s sake, or for the sake of the different way these events will repeat themselves in the future.

I am a traveler, my dear. I’m not a gypsy or a rolling stone, but desire and need both drive me to travel. I like to travel. There are some who use it as an opportunity to look down on those who don’t. I hope I don’t do that, but there’s no doubt in my mind, travel lends a unique perspective on the world. It does open up your horizons a little, helps you see both how small and how significant we really are.

This trip, unlike any other, helped me relax, unwind and be comfortable around friends. Perhaps for the first time, accepted as a peer among peers. It allowed me more freedom than my previous trips have. And it gave me a portrait of what recreational travel might be like when we’re together all the time. A shadow of your future memory accompanied me to every restaurant, every airport and every beachfront. It’s like I previewed our trips before we’ve taken them. And yes, mentally I’m taking notes.

Not all our travel will be fun. And heaven knows, not all of it will necessarily be mine. Maybe it will be me out there in that cell phone lot, waiting for your plane to arrive, standing just behind the airport column with a bouquet of flowers to surprise you. Maybe for once, we’ll be that couple embracing with the kind of affectionate reunion that reminds me of heaven. One of us descends the stairs and descries the other among the crowd of expectant faces. The rest of the crowd, and then the entire airport, fade into the periphery as we rush into each other’s arms. We’ll spend a few minutes in our own little cocoon of bliss, I’ll give you your flowers and you’ll give me a kiss. I always try to bring back souvenirs, so you can look forward to that too. (This trip, it was chocolate.) Or upon your return, I’ll grab your bags and we’ll go out to the car. I’ll pack the bags in, then get your door for you. I’ll climb into the driver side and in the silence of the car, we’ll lean over the console and lose ourselves in another kiss before I put it in gear and immediately begin the inquiries about the trip.

Or maybe this will be some of the early defining moments before we’re married, when the pangs of absence first begin to promote the furtherance of our affections and you call on me to pick you up.

Today, of course, I descended the stairs alone. I watched the happy reunions around me, alone. I retrieved my luggage alone and walked into the rain, where my father took me home.

I think there is much travel in store for both of us darling, for both business and pleasure. If I should prove so unfortunate as to be without you on our travel, then I hope I can anticipate finding you there to meet me when I come home. I hope I can check in with you every night, talking in hushed tones while laying across the hotel bed with my blazer beside me, my collar and tie loosened and my sleeves unbuttoned. I hope when I come home at the end of the day, I might at least sometimes find you waiting behind the door to ambush me with a kiss, or maybe more.

I hope…I just hope that one day, I’ll come home and you’ll be waiting for me.

Love ever,

June 9, 2013 Posted by | Anticipation | Leave a comment

A Thousand Miles Away

Dear Darling,

Well well, three trips in a month! You’d think I’m some kind of globetrotter or something. (Especially with funds as tight as they are right now.) But here I am in sunny Florida. According to MapQuest, I’m literally a thousand miles, almost exactly, from home.

I’m here with some friends both old and new, and I’m rather surprised both at their frank discussions and at their kindness and inclusion to me. It’s a peculiar thing, being surprised that people are kind and treat you as equals…

At my age, you’d also think I know how to get out of the sun, or properly guard against it, but being unused to this much prolonged time on the beach, I’ve reddened and burned quite beautifully. Don’t fret! My burns often fade into tans, and though the lines are hardly even, perhaps you’ll find something other than very pale skin just a little bit fetching!

But of course, there are times even here when my mind is a thousand miles away. Remember how I’ve talked about how sometimes it’s hard to relax? I find myself making an effort to live in the moment, and not just know that I’m happy, but actually feel happy. There’s a difference.

Ah Darling, this trip has been filled with some great moments, from sitting under a palm tree and reading a novel to swimming in the sea, looking through clear blue water and seeing my feet on the ocean floor, dozing in the sand as I hear the waves crash on the shore, hiking through Florida tropics and snapping pictures of wildlife, getting caught in a sudden rain shower, cooking supper with friends, and sitting around having quiet and deep conversation afterward. I’m trying to store up these memories, because even if I don’t fully apprehend their meaning and accept the moment as peaceful and cleansing, I know that the mental image will carry me through some of the rougher days ahead.

While home is a thousand miles away, thoughts of you are not. I think of you when relaxing in a pool after dark, relaxing against the side looking up at the palm trees. I think of you when I watch all these people walk mostly naked down the beach. (They don’t know they no longer have power over me; the joys of working in a hospital have inoculated me against what might otherwise tip the upper hand in the battle every young man wages.) I think of you when I spy one couple that is either locked in a mere embrace of bliss, or actually “covertly” making love in the water. I think of you when I observe my trip mates, two of them married to each other. Spending time watching someone’ else’s marriage gives me an interesting front seat for seeing what it looks like, observing their interactions, thinking what it must be like to run your hand along the small part of the back of someone you love.

This trip is nice, but it isn’t quite right. It’s missing you. I may have two or three more trips planned this summer, only one by plane if I can work it out, but all of them to visit friends. I can’t think what it must be like to plan a getaway just for us. One day we’ll be there, fulfilling our own dreams, doing things only we want to do, our way. We’ll get to spend time just with each other, in laughter and teasing, play and joking, intimate conversation, kissing, cuddling, canoodling, all the birthrights which marriage confers. And when those thoughts cross my mind, there’s a single word that accompanies them. Now what was that word again?

Oh yeah.



June 4, 2013 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment