October 7, 2008

My dearest,

There is this picture of me that you like. I don’t know why; I dislike it myself — it’s not the most flattering, it betrays all my flaws. But you tell me it’s your favorite and I believe you. Do you see past all my imperfections or do you just not care about them? Some days I wish I could see what you see, what you see in me. If it’s anything like what I see when I look at you, then we’re gold.

That’s the fear and the question, isn’t it? Would we last? Everybody who’s ever been in love wants to be in love forever. Forever is a long time though; who can see that far, really? I have seen too many who fall along the way; there are so many things that can unmake us — insurmountable distance, infidelity, poverty (or sudden wealth from those lottery tickets you always buy), cancers and disease, multiple bodily mutilations and facial disfigurements from automobile accidents, even quite simply a loss of interest. That’s the worst, isn’t it? What if we run out of things to say? Run out of desire for each other? What if we run out of love?

I have been obsessed by this before. It’s easy, this paranoia. Especially when you think you’re in love. You have something good and you don’t ever want to lose it. It’s normal, trust me, it’s okay. Never did me any good before, though. Never did.

Friends know this of me, of course, and remind me incessantly to stop worrying. (I notice this never seems to apply to their own neuroses and emotional hypochondria; always easier to give advice rather than take it, eh?) They mean well and they are right. Never got me to listen to them though. Never did.

I’ve been sick all week. Two weekends in a row, really. Quite spoiled all our plans. You took it like a trooper while I wailed. I’m rather a baby when ill, very low threshold of pain have I. You cooed as I whimper and did not laugh out loud as much as you could have as I cried out for more pampering.

“I’m going to die.”

“You’re such a baby.”

“What will you do if I die, dear?”

“You’re not going to die.”

“Will you go out and find someone else?”

“Of course.”

“Really?”

“Someone better looking and who doesn’t whine as much.”

“You’re so mean.”

“Yes, and you’re an idiot.”

And you smile and you kiss me.

I’m such a baby, it’s true. I could sit down and wonder if we would ever get to the far side of forever but I can’t imagine, I can’t fathom that anymore. It’s not really important, see. All I know is I’ve got a good slice of forever right here cos you’re here with me, and I’ll be damned if I waste time wondering about tomorrow when we are in love today. I’m such a baby and I’m bloody happy I’m your baby and you’re mine too.

Yours, ever and always.