my love,
Every year, every card, it’s so focused on the past. You’re such and such years old. Do you remember this? Slices of memories, sometimes light brush strokes, sometimes deep cuts. But it’s always nostalgia. It’s always about the past, about something that is gone. As if that’s all we are living for, to remember a past that we can never reclaim, we can never have again, hopeless, lost, out of our reach. And there’s a sadness to that, isn’t there? The immutability of time, the tragicness of how ephemeral everything can be, how fragile.
And that’s not right. that’s not right at all. It’s so inaccurate when it comes to how I feel and think about you, about us. I always think about the possibility. I always think about our future. It’s robust, it’s timeless, it’s engraved in stone that future archeologists will dug up and admire. They will see blow the dust off and marvel the etchings and carvings of our life together and instantly know. They will write stories that will inspire generation after generation.
Here’s what I foresee. I can’t wait until we travel. I can’t wait to see Paris again. I can’t wait to visit Colombia. I can’t wait to share a meal with you whose name I cannot pronounce. I can’t wait to see you on the beach again. I can’t wait to see you standing on a balcony and the breeze makes your hair dance. I can’t wait to see our children start lives of their own. Not to get rid of them, but to see them bloom and grow and stretch even more. I can’t wait for you to scold me for spoiling our grandchildren. I can’t wait to sell this house and buy another closer to anywhere, wherever anywhere could be.
Because that anywhere, that everywhere, that every when is always with you.
Always,
me
2021.08.31