A Flawed Kind of Love

by Lenah. C

Dear Wife,

I woke up early this morning—on our very first morning as man and wife.

You were still asleep on your side of the bed, swaddled in the comforts of our blanket as you can see on this polaroid (which I shall add to our little collection on the wall, by the way).

Look at how serene you look, how absolutely beautiful.

Okay, I know what you're thinking. Here's my answer: no, you're not ugly and, no, I don't care if your morning breath can cause a London mass exodus.

That rubbish aside, wow, where do I begin?

We've started our journey together three years ago, but today is the first day that we're officially stuck with one another.

Our little shotgun wedding ceremony yesterday seems so unreal. I would've thought that it was all a dream had it not been for this ring on my finger. Most of our friends—even my parents, for heavens' sake—said they couldn't believe that we actually ended up getting married. We were always rebelling against the rules and the labels, and yet here we are: hitched.

Yesterday, we didn't do any fancy speeches. It was a toast to our unconventional roots. And as you said, every word we say should be a wedding vow. But as I lay on our bed this morning, watching you sleep, I got myself thinking . . .

Do you know how in those schmuck movies, when lovers tell each other: "I'll never hurt you" or that "I'll always be here for you"?

Well that pisses the fuck out of me.

It is such a lie, and both statements, though stemming from sincerity, strike me as ridiculously naïve.

Hurting people is an inevitable reality of our humanity. Whether intentional or not, you and I won't always be there for each other. We're going to get caught up with ourselves, and we'll be tempted to become apathetic to each other once the novelty of this romance wears off.

Sometime along our journey, darling, we will slip, and we will fail.

It's sad, but it's true.

So let me settle this with you now.

I will hurt you.

And I'm ashamed to say that when I'm too caught up in the selfishness of my own pain, sometimes hurting you might be intentional. These will be the times when I'm wrong, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry for my weakness.

I'll also say that I can't always be here for you, because I know that there will be times when I will fail to notice the sadness in your eyes or the slump of your shoulders. Sometimes, you will fail to tell me, and I wouldn't notice. Sometimes, I would notice, but you would insist that nothing's wrong; and I'd accept it because I wouldn't be able to see past the smiles that don't reach your eyes.

Sometimes, I'll be too busy and too absorbed with tasks ranging from the minor to the vital. Sometimes, I'll take you for granted. Sometimes, I'll make you feel as if you're not important at all by forgetting you.

That sounds terribly disappointing, doesn't it? It is. I will not lie to you. I'm not immune to insensitivity, and I'm not the most thoughtful person around.

But, darling, when I disappoint you, I hope you won't let it fester. I hope you can trust me enough to know that I abandoned you unintentionally, and that I'm sorry for the hurt I unknowingly caused.

You may come to a point when you will doubt if I loved you at all. But never agree with your doubts. At the end of the day, I hope that you know you can always run to me, that you can always tell me, and that with the very best of my efforts—despite that there will be times when I am not my best and that I can never be always my best—, I will catch you, I will comfort you; and I will love you.

It's a flawed kind of love, but it's my best.

It's a flawed kind of love, and it's yours if you would have it.



P.S. your cup of brew's waiting in the kitchen—yes, with the bacon.

L.C.: It's been aaaaageeeees since I wrote something creatively. Work tends to get in the way, sadly. Great. Now I'm addicted to writing again, and I'll probably be obsessed for the next few weeks. I'd love to hear from everyone about this piece. Please, do not even hesitate to leave a message! I promise to reply!

This was written for A Drop of Romeo's Star-Crossed Round 9. Prompt: Sleeping. Check out the photo here: . .