But Of All These Friends And Lovers, There Is No One Compares With You, And These Memories Lose Their Meaning, When I Think Of Love As Something New

--"In My Life", The Beatles



August

Dear,

It hasn't been that long since I saw you last but the thought of you still manages to keep me awake at night. Isn't that funny, that I should let something so foolish as missing you bother me? Yet miss you I do and bother me it does. There's a part of me that longs to wish you home like Jeannie so that I may wrap you in my little 'ole arms once again. I know it's a fanciful thought, but you're the one who insisted I spill my guts over what was bothering me. It kind of gives more creedance to the whole "be careful what you wish for" saying, doesn't it? But, yeah, that's the gist of it, mister. I miss you. There's no big explanation and no great catastrophe except the sense of longing that I feel for you. I mean--I wouldn't alert the media just yet or anything. I'm sure others have felt what I have felt before. I'm certainly not going to bother saying that how I feel for you is anything unique. Since time immortal love and lovers have existed. I am merely taking my place among them. So, yeah, I feel foolish even trying to write this to you because it makes it seem like this whole thing is a big deal when I know and you know that it's really not. I'm still little 'ole me.

Basically, why I agreed to write this thing in the first place is to show you that there really is a depth to my emotions and that, when I say things to you, I am coming from a position of having really contemplated exactly what I'm trying to say to you. It may not come out smooth as glass, but there is time and effort in everything I feel. I'm so worried that you'll dismiss everything I ever spoke aloud as being nothing more than trivial. Somehow writing it down places an emphasis on the particularities that I either neglect or forget to address when we're together. Sometimes the words do not come with quite as much impact when spoken aloud than when written down. So here's the thing in a connect-the-dots Kindergarten simplicity. When I think of you it's not with the eyes of seeing you for the first time, though that's probably what goes through your head sometimes. I can't fault you for that. Nope, when I think of you it's with the perception of someone who has mulled the subject of you over like a great philosophy question. What is this feeling that I feel? I'm telling you there's no short answer to that. There is only the experience of trying to compile everything I know about you into some kind of quippy answer. There is only me trying to explain you to you. Not the fake you, but the real you that I see. I don't know if you'll ever get what I get, the searing and tumultuous joy of even hearing your name, but, trust me, I really do get you. And the point is that because I do I think I'm qualified to say how strongly I feel about you.

Remember that time parked up there, when we were just holding each other? That's the kind of learning I'm talking about. When you can figure someone's silences as if they were your own I think you've learned more than enough about them. I won't say something silly like I could read you mind. But, you and me, we had a moment there and I'm old enough to realize that those are a rare breed. Feeling the strength of your arms around me like some big 'ole oak tree gave me the goosehairs something fierce and I realized what an opportunity you are. Because that's what you are. You're my chance at something real, at something substantial. I think about you and I think about how you're an opportunity I can't afford to waste, mister. I want the crazy shivers every time you touch me. I want the undeniable taste of you on my lips when I sleep at night. I want the sense of wholeness that comes with your every utterance of my name because no one can quite say my name like you can. I want it all. I want to remember that time in the truck as being the first of many times where you and I just went somewhere and just were. Nothing more, nothing less. I've come to realize that there is no greater thought in my head at the time when we're together than the fact we're together. I don't need plans or reservations. I only need you. I only want you. You're the one I want to keep. You're the one I want to love. You're the one I want to kiss. You're the one I want to please. You're the one I want to tease. You're the one I want to tempt. You're the one I want to hold. You're the one I want to savor. You're the one I want to surprise. You're the one I want to corrupt. You're the one I want to cherish. You're the one I want to remember. And, yes, you're the one I want to miss.

So, you see, mister, when I think of love I think of you. Missing you is just a by-product of that simple truth. There's nothing fancy about this. Truly, there is nothing that needs to be written down here. You don't need a love letter from me to explain to you how I feel just as I don't need to write one to be upfront with you. The one good thing about doing this for you is that it'll always be there for both of us. One day, when our grandkids' grandkids ask about us and how much we loved each other, they'll be able to whip this out and show them. They'll see there was a time when YOU DIDN'T BELIEVE ME when I said I have never loved any one thing more than I've loved you. They'll read this and think what a lucky sonuvabitch you were to have someone express her feelings for you in such a fashion.

And that's when they'll have to explain that I was the lucky one.

Hell's bells, am I the lucky one to have found you.

There you have it. That's my letter to you, folded up neatly, tucked away with a kiss from me, and sent in a plain white envelope and mailed of all things. Just the way you asked. I only do this because I love you and because I miss you.

I'll have the truck waiting... hurry back to me, dear .

Breanne