You’d be happy to know that today, I have finally accepted that it is futile, unbecomingly so, to wish for the untethered vestiges of my mind to morph my image of you. And yes, I say today because I have, in fact, wished for this before today.
I have wished for you to be less than you are. Wished for the sound of your laugh, the taste of your breath to hold a little less value to me. For your mind to be less enchanting, your heart a little less kind. I have even wished for you to be, become half the person I know you to be. All in some vain, misguided attempt that if the wishes come true, it might make it easier for me to live with you.
Make it easier to believe that I might just one day deserve you.
But today I have realized how pathetically ridiculous these wishes are. Who else but I could wish for raw
amber to morph into pale limestone because the fieriness of its glow would be gentler on the eye?
Perhaps it is my pessimistic, cynical mind that rushes to create troubles when it can’t find one. Perhaps it
is my insecure heart that cannot fathom much less believe the regard you have for me. Or perhaps it is my inevitability to accept the connection that flourishes between us.
Something true and profound but unbelievable, like magic in a bottle.
But today, on the day of our wedding, I find myself unable to hold on to such pretentions and so I woefully, gratefully accepted what we are.
We, my love, are kindred.
I know because I knew, recognized you the way one recognizes rain in the air. Without sight or sound and on a single, simple breath. A muscle memory so old it has no time, place or meaning, just instinct. Pure survival, animal instinct that, upon our first meeting, stirred from long, dreamless hibernation and cried: Oh. There you are.
I know I will feel that way today when I look at you this eve and vow to become yours. I know I will feel this
way tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that. I hope to never stop feeling that way fifty years from today.
Waiting to become yours as I always was.