#Day 811: From Me To You

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Dear future lover,

I hope you’re lying in bed next to me as you read this. I hope we have a soft, comfortable bed and I hope you understand why you’re my pillow halfway through the night. I know for a fact that I sleep on the left and I’m assuming that you know why. Or that you’ve bothered to ask me the reason and I was completely honest about it.

I’m sure of a few things. The first being, as of right now, I have absolutely no idea who you are. None. Nada. Zilch. And I’m sure that when I hand this letter over to you, we’re at a stage in our life together that needs me to not explain why I’m writing this letter in the first place. I’ve probably told you about the only person who can get under my skin as I write this. I’m fervently hoping that you’re the only who can affect me in any such way then.

I also hope you don’t leave the kitchen dirty when I’m not around and that when you do, we have a food fight before cleaning it all up at 4 A.M.

I can predict a few things, too. You love music, no matter the genre. You watch crap television and have a list of pet peeves that runs longer than mine. I’m counting on the fact that you’re an avid reader and possibly, a geek. That we’ve been to Universal Studios at least twice and rented a little flat in Paris for a week.

I hope our first date was particularly awkward and that you shuffled and looked at your feet before we kissed for the first time. I hope I can let my guard down around you because if you know me at all, you know how much of a big deal that is for me. I hope my best friend hasn’t scared you away. I’m going to go out of my way and say that I know almost everything about you and we’re not stagnant. We’re a train wreck with a happy ending.

I’m praying that we have a dog. I hope he is the bane of our existence, just as much as we are each other’s. I hope he loves you more than he loves me and that you tease me about it all the time.

I hope you’re ticklish. I’m looking forward to you reacting to the next few sentences the way I’m imagining it.

I hope you know why we may never get married and even though you don’t agree, we’ve chosen to cross that bridge when we get to it. I hope you understand me better than my own reflection does. I hope when we wake up on a Sunday morning and eat brunch in our pyjamas watching old movies and behaving like teenagers, its the most sanguine you’ve ever felt. I’m assuming that we’re ridiculous drunks and brilliant at forgetting the fights. I hope you dance with me in the snow, I hope you know I hate mint. I really, with all my heart, hope you’re a pathetic liar and undaunted by my temper. I hope I know why the scar above your knee is a bad memory and why the one your chin is the eventuality of an audacious fight with your mates.

But in all honesty, if nothing in this letter holds true to us, my love, I really couldn’t care any less. Because if I’ve chosen to give this page to you, it means, above everything, I love you with all my heart.

I hope you love me as much as I do you.

And I hope you’re kissing me right about now.

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