Letters to Luthien

Letters to My Future Bride

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.

Wow.

Love,
Beren

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June 4, 2013 - Posted by | Uncategorized

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