To My Future Husband

I hope you're ready for late night White Castle runs, and singing Guns N' Roses songs at the top of our lungs. I hope you're ready for cereal for dinner, and watching Dirty Dancing three times in a row. I hope you're ready to chase each other through the kitchen, our socks sliding on the cold tile floor. I hope you're ready for board games at 2AM, and unplanned naps at 2PM. I hope you're ready for my unhealthy obsession with Elvis Presley, and driving to PetSmart just to play with puppies. I hope you're ready for Harry Potter marathons, and holding my hand while you drive. I hope you're ready for the arguments that end with us crying, and the ones that end with us laughing. I hope you're ready for the midnight "I love you's," and the midnight "scoot the fuck over's." I hope you're ready for my brown eyes, and the honey-glaze that covers them when they see you. I hope you're ready to love me like a song, and to carry me like a soul. I hope you're ready for everything in between the frail walls of my heart, and the vivid scars that reside there. I hope you're ready for my shaking voice apologizing for my mistakes, and my warm, hopeful hands clinging to your chest. I hope you're ready to forgive me, to hold me, to cherish me. I so desperately hope you're ready for our unconditionally holy, intensely passionate, infinitely child-like, crazed love, because my heart beats like a racehorse thinking of the track we're going to run.