LETTERS TO MY FUTURE LOVER

I’m not the fling girl. I’m more the all-or-nothing type of broad.
I’m not a yes woman—not a seen and not heard woman.
I’ve got a sharp wit and a strong spine and I speak my mind.
I will push you, challenge you, and tell you when you’re full of shit.
 
But I’ll also stoke a fire in your soul like you’ve never known before. 
One that blazes against the night sky, calls forth the gods from their thrones, and shines light on the places inside yourself you’ve kept hidden.
I’ll support you while you chase your dreams, and while I hold you to the highest level of accountability. 
I’ll hold you together in your weakest moments, and I’ll stand beside you as you climb your tallest peaks.
 
I’ll write you love poems and leave you silly notes, making you smile from across the world or just across the hall.
I’ll sing while I do the dishes and dance while I make some sad excuse for a meal.
I’ll distract you and touch your butt when you’re trying to do the same.
 
I’ll chase the sun with you. Buy last minute plane tickets around the world with you.
I’ll make you laugh until you cry—with charm and sarcasm and grace.
I’ll jump out of an airplane with you and then take you to the symphony.
I’ll make you remember what it’s like to fall in love for the first time again.
 
I’ll be your last first kiss and the woman you take home for Christmas. 
And the one your mother asks about every holiday after when it doesn’t work out. 
 
Because few things ever do.