An open letter to my love
2004-03-25

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An open letter to my love;

I was speaking with one of the crazy ladies in our building today; about her problems with her parents, her problems with her teenaged children.

I told her of my fears of becoming my parents, that I am healed enough to understand when the good of what they've taught me are things of which to be proud -- but that I am not confident in closing my lips around the abuse, the inability and misunderstanding that formed the undercurrent of my formative years.

I realized as I spoke, of the events of the other morning or afternoon.

I realized a lot of things.

I realized so much about you, my love.

I realized that I look to you for so much, for warmth, support, joy, a touch of romance, for strength, creativity, inspiration. I look to you to use each of your stellar abilities both in mind and body to help us both conquer our goals. I look to you in admiration and in love, I look to you in appreciation of your ability to learn and your flashes of brilliance as in turn you force me to learn things I had never conceived the existence of.

What I realized this morning, though -- is how much more you hand me that my grestest expectations, in carefully woven packages.

Today's example is the key that you constantly pull from a secret corner -- that allows me the hope that I will unlock some of the chains bound to me by my parents.

The other day when we argued briefly over nothing, over apple cores, I was furious and I had no idea why and didn't seek to understand, either.

Fourteen seconds later our argument was resolved and we were kissing and the only fury that remained was with myself for my uncharacteristic "chick" moment.

Today I realized that something else had happened there. That a spark had leapt from you -- born of your ability to stand up to the world at large.

I'd long forgotten (and stopped hoping) that people were capable of such things, despite your constant demonstrations of logic and values beyond morden citylife rules.

In that forgetting I guess I never noticed out loud how often you step back and point out the holes in my terrors and furies, those nights in my parents' garage tearing rifts in the blanket of guilt that they so meticulously weave and that I am so utterly blind to.

You also tear holes in my bad habits, ones that I am not conscious of and unable to reason my way past.

Today when I told Dale that sometimes I hear my mother's voice pouring from my throat I realized that after every instance of such a thing -- your strength is always there, teaching me.

I figured that out today, my love. I figured out the secret to breaking the cycle.

The secret is listening to you, because I can trust in your insight, intelligence -- and the very way you live and love.

I love you with my entirety, Mr. Pyke.

-- your wife-to-be.

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I guess this is goodbye. - 11:57 a.m. , 2005-02-10
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