A Letter To My Future Wife, Part II: Where The Hell Are You?

Isabelle Portes
Isabelle Portes

I’m sorry it’s been so long since I last wrote to you. There were a couple of times over the last two years where I thought my search was about to end, but here I am writing at the kitchen table — a sight you’ve now seen too many times to count — a letter addressed to someone I’ve possibly never even met yet.

As the weeks, months, and years pass, and as I continue to age out of my 20’s, the thought can’t help but enter into my mind somewhat regularly: “Where the hell are you?” If we have yet to cross paths, when will that day come? If we have already, why didn’t one of us come forward sooner?

I’m not the same man who wrote to you two years ago.

The eternal optimist who chalked up an arduous journey to the words of a Michael Buble song has transformed into a partially cynical, partially jaded soul who is feeling the grip of hope slip through his fingertips a little more each day.

That hopeless romantic you’ve come to love is still in there, somewhere; he’s just a little more reserved, and much more realistic than he once was.

When I stop and think about the emotional strife I’ve been through over the last two years — the girl I saw a future with, the girl I wrote a book about, the girl who never felt a spark between us, and every other situation where it just didn’t work out — the only thing that comes to mind is wanting to thank you.

A thank you for putting a stop to the tempestuous roller coaster that was borderline hazardous at times; a thank you for showing me how one deserves to be treated by a significant other; a thank you for being the reason why my attempts in dating were not in vain; and perhaps the most important thank you of all: a thank you for loving me.

I’ve known the man you married for decades longer than you have, so I know how difficult he can be to put up with at times. It’s frustrating to see me bury myself in work when I could be doing something with you; it’s understandable that you roll your eyes when I say something stupid; the singing I subject you to — be it in the car, the shower, while doing chores, or just because it’s Tuesday — probably hasn’t improved all that much through our time together.

But you put up with all of it. You love me for who I am and you accept my flaws because they make up the man who is writing you this letter well before you accepted his proposal or said, “I do.”

You are my greatest debt, and one that I fully acknowledge I’ll never be able to repay through any number of years we’re together or romantic gestures displayed over that time.

I’ve been on this road to love for what seems like an eternity, but somehow there’s this feeling that a destination is in sight.

If you’re reading this, it means I eventually made it. It may have taken a while to get there, but we have the rest of our lives to take in the sights together. And right now, the one I’m looking at — you, reading this letter — is just about as beautiful of sight as it gets.

Thank you for finding me. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for everything. I love you, forever and always. TC mark

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Image Credit: Isabelle Portes

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