Memorandum for My Lover

I considered handwriting something similar -- to make it more authentic. But if you know me, and I'm fairly certain you do, then you'll understand why it had to be typed instead. My lack of patience is fucking legendary. Handwritting this would have made it more appreciable, in my own opinion, but along with ever-shrinking patience, my hand just can't write quickly enough to keep up with my thoughts. And by the time I snag a thought worth jotting down, it slips through my cerebral, unreal fingers like ash through a grate. You're my tech boy, anyway. I think you would prefer it typed and digital.

This is not a letter because either of us is dying. This is not a letter because we have some great love and the heavens have bestowed upon us the tasking reality of being starstruck. This is not a letter because I am in love.

This is a letter because I am falling in love, and it terrifies me as much as it thrills me. The sort of things that I think and consider and mull over when I'm around you astound me. My mother will tell you. I am not soft. I am not malleable. I am not sappy or soppy or maudlin. I was not raised to be so. I was raised by a woman who breathed fire in the face of hardship. I was raised by a woman who moved mountains when I could barely topple mole hills. This is a letter because I am learning to be all those things that I thought I wasn't, and it terrifies me to let anyone who may have such power to wrought such change within me in. My mother was the single pillar of support for our family for eleven years, and I learned from her what I could so that I might survive in this world that has been unexpectedly treacherous and unkind to me and mine.

But for you, I am learning to be what I am not, and I am learning that it is not nearly as much of a weakness as I believed it would be.

Perhaps this should be longer. But we are just beginning, and since neither of us have mechinations on ending so soon, perhaps one day it will be.