Letters to Luthien

Letters to My Future Bride

If I Met You

14. Lynch, Brent - Twilight RomanceIf I met you, it would be like an unexpected wave of happiness washing over me and leaving an irresistible smile in its wake. It would be like God sweeping back the curtain as only He can, saying “Here she is!”

If I met you, I would be worried I’d forget your name, partly because my memory blanks in happiness, and partly because it takes time to commit to memory.

If I met you, it wouldn’t matter what your name is. It would be above my likes and dislikes; it would describe you, and that is all I need know.

If I’d met you, your face wouldn’t burn itself into my mind yet, but your soul would have. That means I would get to see you anew each time we meet. I would better know and remember your character; I would know you better from the inside out.

If I met you, it would be natural, so natural as to arouse both fear and suspicion. I would continually worry someone got it wrong, had messed up the paperwork, that someday Santa would come back all apologies and say there’s been a dreadful mistake, this happiness was meant for someone else.

I’d be worried it isn’t real.

There wouldn’t be a lot of drama, or angst, or fear. For the first time, there wouldn’t be any roadblocks except what I put up to make sure to take it slow. It would be fearful and freeing; a green light and an open road for the first time.

If I met you I would finally realize why it never clicked with anyone else, the people with whom I always felt some kind of roadblock; a lack of peace, a lack of clearance, a lack of something. I’d realize that I wasn’t supposed to be with any of those people, because they weren’t you.

With you, there wouldn’t be those hangups. Just peace, clearance and a divine “go get ’em.”

If I met you, I would kneel to pray at nights and God would beat me to the punchline: “Ain’t she something?”

If I met you, we’d spend so much time together in that first week that it would feel rushed. You’d be surprised my questions were so deep and direct, but you’d answer openly and truthfully.

If I met you, conversation would be easy, open, and pleasant; it would be worthwhile for its own sake. We’d mull over the deep questions, a steady flame rising in each of us as we realized our expectations, hopes and dreams were met (complemented, fed, fueled) by the other. We’d each be the hope that neither of us dares trust.

If I met you, I’d have to hold myself back. I’d be loving what I’m seeing, dying to know more. I’d want to share with you every keepsake, souvenir and heirloom accrued during the journey here. I’d have to remind myself to hold back and go slow. Someone who gives me such peace to pursue deserves to be pursued slowly and intentionally, savoring each moment along the way, and not diving in too quickly, for principle’s sake if nothing else.

Your faith would be real, your strength and boldness would be evident. You would take me off guard with how winsome you are. You’d be encouraging and attentive, just the right combination of confidence and vulnerability. There’d be lots of little “perks” about you, an alignment of the quirks and eccentricities that just fuel the feeling we were made for each other.

If I met you, my mind would immediately set about marveling at the few twisted ends of my timeline it can comprehend, which seemed at the time to be in such shambles, but in truth have conspired seamlessly towards our introduction. I’d trace all the paths that led me to you, recognizing that each and every one fulfilled a purpose, and if even one of them had gone wrong, we wouldn’t have met.

If I met you, we’d go to the movies. You’d smuggle frozen yogurt in your purse, and we’d bend in to whisper comments or jokes about the movie or its plot holes. It would be an excuse to touch heads, for you as much as me. Whispering in your ear would inexplicably feel like home, and like resisting a magnet to pull away.

I’d be worried such joyful potential wouldn’t last. That it isn’t as “meant to be” as it feels, or that I’m going too fast.

If I’d met you, then time away would renew my mind’s questioning it was real. I’d question your looks, your personality, your attraction. Then you’d surprise me from behind, and as I turn to look, the sum of all my fears and doubts melts into a herd of butterflies which migrate into my stomach.

If I met you, it would make me just a little light-headed. It would be exactly as I imagined, and yet nothing could have prepared me for it. I would question how on earth I could know to expect an experience and follow a script I’d done nothing but imagine.

If I met you, I would want to tell people, random people: “Hey! I think I’ve found her!” But they won’t care. They’re too casual in their own pursuits to appreciate the beginning of something amazing — the end of the loneliness. They fall too easily, too quickly. A love left until the due time to cure in its own isolation, a time so long that when it’s brought forth, it’s the most pure and refined of droughts can’t be imagined by those who fall so easily.

If we met, it would be the first time I’ve encountered living proof that the girl of such character and quality exists.

If I met you, I would mention it casually to a friend or two, knowing there’s nothing casual about it. I’d write e-mails to my mother about you, trying to convince her you’re the real deal. They wouldn’t believe me. wouldn’t believe me.

I’d look at you, furtively and fervantly. “Luthien?” I’d ask hopefully. And even though you didn’t know who she was…you’d suddenly find yourself hoping you were.

And above all, if I met you…all this would be real, but I couldn’t tell it to you yet. Instead…instead I would retreat here, to my sacred and transparent refuge, where I would chart all these experiences, and hold my breath for the next step.

July 11, 2013 - Posted by | Anticipation, Our Timeline

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