Things I Would Like to do With You – A love letter #7
There’s a vision of my future that seems so far away – improbable, even. After meeting you and fighting with myself over how I felt, I gave up. I realized a while ago how much I cared for you. There was no point fighting it. There is no point fighting it. It simply is. But now the vision I have for my life feels even more impossible, my friend.
I don’t want a life characterized by the pursuit of things or positions or titles. I don’t care a lot about status symbols or power for the sake of it. I don’t want designer clothes or bags or shoes. I want a simple, quiet life. The grief over what has been lost has left me with a rock-solid belief that there’s just not a lot that matters.
So that’s it – that’s the thing I’d like to do with you – live a simple life with kids, the people we love, grandchildren someday, and all the little things. I want to wake up next to you someday and wonder how it is we got so damn lucky.
Impossible? Likely. Nonetheless, I like to dream of impossible things. The next time we talk, know that I’m wishing I was slipping my hand into yours and taking you home.
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