And I won't go another day...
February 14, 2018
We've spent so much of our lives together - and apart - looking toward the future. Everything's always been about when our next visit was going to be, how it would work around our schedules that potentially hadn't even been formed yet.
We've spent so much time living in the future that we never got a chance to properly enjoy the now (or the past), something that I hope I will properly explain in the following paragraphs.
I was going to pour my heart out into this letter, but then I realized I'd have an entire lifetime to in a few hours, so I'll keep this short and sweet - and save you the pain of having to redo your makeup unless El thought ahead and used waterproof makeup, which I'm sure she did, knowing her.
Just a fair warning: this sounds ridiculously cheesy now that I'm writing it out.
My original plan had been to include a number of the 419 letters I wrote to you for each of the days we'd spent apart during our break, but then I realized it didn't go with my plans. So here is my revised, hopefully better, wonderful plan. (That was not grammatically correct - sorry.)
Enclosed in this box are letter writing materials. They are not for you to use, my dear, but rather, for me. Currently, all of the sheets and envelopes are blank. Except for one, which I will tell you to open at the end of this letter.
My theory is this:
Letters capture a moment in time. Most of these moments are a one-shot deal. Let them go, they're gone for good.
I didn't want to pre-write a bunch of letters for you to read in the future. You'd just be feeling an imprint of my past during a moment in which I don't even know how you'll be feeling some x number of years in the future.
Instead, from this moment on for the rest of our lives, whenever there is a moment that you want to remember, give me an envelope and a sheet of paper, and I'll write you a letter. You can keep it indefinitely and never read it. Or you could read it the next time we're apart and relive the moment, remember why you wanted to remember it, and know that in that letter moment - and that moment in the present - that I loved you and that I do love you.
Please don't be like James and tell me that, yes, there is a flaw in my plan in that I anticipate us to be apart in the future. I know. I guess this is why you're always the smarter one of us. And that's reason 735 of a bajillion times infinite of why I love you.
This wasn't as short as I had anticipated, but I hope it was sweet enough to make up for its length.
And now, as I promised – open the first letter dated February 14, 2018. I wrote this one – the letter that you're reading right now – a while ago, as it would've taken me ages to properly compose it on the spot, but I wrote the other one just before Luke set off on his delivery mission.
Here's to our now together beginning...well, now.
I love you.
February 14, 2018
Guess what, Lovebug?
We're getting married. :)