Couldn't help but not cry

Maybe I'm self-assured

I'll still survive

As long as there's time to write

Scribble my thoughts tonight

And steal a kiss, alright

I'll still survive

It's a dark night

It's a long shot

Red Light Company

---

I've been sitting here for more than an hour now. I'm trying to write a letter to my future husband (whom I have yet to meet, apparently); I feel that I have so much to say to him, but I don't know how to put it in visible words. Because at this precise moment there is nothing more than I want than to bury my face in his chest and be assured of a life-long love. 

To the love of my life,
I'm sorry I have been impatient during this period of trials...

No, it's not nice to start a letter with an apology.

Dear love,
I know I'm imperfect,

Nope.

Dear future husband,

I cannot wait to come face to face with you.

Sounds desperate.

To the one whom I shall give my heart to,

Know that you will be my last. You may not have been the first boy to make me smile, nor the one to take my hand in his, not even the first one who gets to peck my cheeks, but you will be my last. Should I leave the world before you, your smile will be the last I see before I shut my eyes for eternity. My wrinkled hands shall be in yours as I lie on the hospital bed. Your lips shall be the last to touch my chapped grandma lips and wrinkly forehead. I may have given away a lot of firsts, except for that absolute sacred thing, but I promise you that you will have the best of me until the very end. 

*wipes tears*

I confess: I am a girl in love with the idea of love. 

Twenty-five. Never had a boyfriend.

Maybe, just maybe, I'm ready.

---

“Sometimes I’m terrified of my heart; of its constant hunger for whatever it is it wants. The way it stops and starts.”

Edgar Allan Poe