For the Mister.

Dear Future Mister,

Here are a few things to know and note:

I’m moody. I won’t qualify it with a comment about females and hormones. I was simply born moody. Mr. Rogers

Sometimes it won’t be your fault. Don’t worry.

When it is, I’ll try to communicate that. When it’s my fault, I’ll try to communicate that, too.

About communication: so, yeah…it’s just gonna get real sometimes. Let’s promise to not let the sun set with you and me committing harm with our words. No matter how sleepy I get (more on that later), I won’t sleep until we fix it.

Speaking of things becoming real: sometimes real life pushes me into my tiny cocoon, where stress, bills, and home improvement don’t exist. Gently pull me out if it’s taking too long to return.

I’m sleepy all the time. During events, during plane rides, during trips to the grocery store. But if you have to work late, I’ll nap on the couch while I’m waiting for you to get home.

I’m a sincere goofball.

I’m also sincerely serious about things that are important to me. I hope you are, too.

I’m obsessed with music, poetry, the arts, dancing like a weirdo, history, and old movies.

I don’t watch sports. I can’t. It makes my eyes bleed. But I will completely support you in your love or whatever you love, eyes bleeding and all.

But you will have to sit next to me at Broadway show. Just saying.

I miss my Dad and will often enter that quiet place where I wish he was around to meet you. Or simply wishing that he was around. I’ll come back and appreciate you all the more.

Let’s travel as often as we can. We can go to Rome and take naps in our hotel room if you want. But we’re in Rome. (That’s to say that I’m not a stickler for traditional touristy stuff. Just want to breathe that foreign air sometimes.)

About cooking: Let us pray.

About prayer: it’ll be the foundation of our relationship.

I like surprises. Like tickets to see James Taylor and you somehow get us backstage so he can serenade me with Walking Man surprises. But a nice card and flowers just because it’s Tuesday will result in the same giddiness.

Romance. Romance.

If you know how to fix things? Please. You’re always golden. Always.

About money: Let us pray.

Seriously, dear, please handle all of that.

My past hasn’t always been rosy. Here and there, it’ll be my pleasure to let you in.

I hope we have a song. You know, something we hear at the same time and look at each other and understand that the lyrics embody this thing of ours.

My mom will love you. Just know that. She will love you.

Don’t be alarmed that I’ve seen virtually every TV show ever made. If we play trivia games, my love, use this to your advantage and make sure you’re on my team.

Don’t be alarmed by how super competitive I can be. Just whisper “calm down, you weirdo” lovingly in my ear.

On occasion, I might stare at you in slight shock that you’re actual real and present in my life. 10 years down the road, this may still be happening.

I hope our song isn’t Boulevard of Broken Dreams.

I’m sensitive.

Laughter: we need to have it, claim it, use it, bellow it, giggle it, chuckle it, screech it.

One day you will read this blog entry and you will hopefully smile.

We don’t have to go to every party, every gathering, every affair that we’re invited to. I like being at home.

But if we’re in a room together and you feel me leaning back into you, it’s because there will never be a sweeter feeling than being in a room and knowing that you’re just a few inches away.


2 Replies to “For the Mister.”

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