So I thought I'll break the ice already. If you haven't noticed, I'm your future husband. Hi. It's kind of tautological so I suggest we just accept it already.
I've been thinking about us lately. Frequently enough to warrant this letter. And I say let's get a few things out of the way before we run into each other some weird place and proceed to fall in intense, irrevocable love. Just so we're on the same page really, no hurry or anything. So here's my stuff, make known yours as well soon as you have it figured out. Savvy?
I don't know how to break this to you, but, you know how everybody always seems to be running? Up the stairs, down the ropes, through the files, on the conference table, in the bathtub, klug klug klug, thump thump? Yeah, well, I'm not like that. I don't mean I don't run or that I just stroll past the flowers and they smile back at me. No I run, I jog, I jump for the grapes, and do all the crazy gymnastics around my pink piggy bank. And I can sure as hell sprint on my ass to tremendous widespread surprise. But I guess what will make it all finally worthwhile for me is that idle grey-haired stroll on the river bridge. Or the better hours of an evening on a park bench with lungs full of flowers, heart full of mirth and a head full of you. Yeah, that about completes it. Given the sex in the balcony later.
I'm a big man in my head. With big, ridiculous dreams, stretchy gummy imagination, and a rather compulsive thing for generalizations But one couldn't call me ambitious, for my dreams are lazy dreams. Instead of ambitious, call me hopeful. And instead of dreamer, dreamy. But all the same, the crazy part is it seems to work. I find it hard to fathom at once the things I've achieved; and impossible to hold in one frame, the many moments I count as trophies. The rhythm of my lazy stroll seems to positively superpose the resonating frequency of the universe, if you get the drift.
But dear o' lovely wife, I see that it's hard to swallow the divine goodness of a conspiring universe. Well yes, I get it. I don't trust the universe either. And I won't get mad at it when it fails me, god promise. Because I have a body that moves. I have all this energy that I've nothing else to spend on other than pushing the universe about. All this time to keep trying and perfecting the right push until it gives way. I have enough. I'm lucky already. The universe can't fail me, it can only put me in my place. Where I reach is only its way of telling me what I deserved. And wherever it puts me, I doubt if it can disappoint. Given not its generosity, but my rather creepy knack at making good of things. Do you see where I'll differ? Wherever it puts me, my next step won't be to try and not be marred by the circumstances or try and not let the success get to me, all the while striving harder for bigger and worthier victories. No, my next step will be in the pool, I think, or the garden. And the next few generally about the place, see what I like, what I'd like more, get a grip on the place, that sort of thing. And then have a good night's sleep. I like my sleep, love, and you have to like your sleep if you are to tolerate it.
I like our kids, honey. I'm in tireless, timeless, ego-less, selfless, ruthless, endless love with our kids. They'll grow up to be orders of magnitude better than us, how exciting is that? Not to push it or anything, but I want our daughter to be like you. Can you promise me you'll give her everything you had and more? And can you promise me whenever whatever little differences I have with my son when he figures I'm probably an overrated oldie, that you'll always take his side? I want to lose that match. Given, of course, the sex in the balcony later.
I love how much love there will be. I love how it'll all come together. But I have a last request to make. Don't come running too fast. For you'll either speed past me when my lazy old eyes miss it and I'll never catch you by the hand. Or I won't be ready and done running, sprinting, and jogging about the damn piggy bank yet. And we don't want that do we, if only for the kids.