My 75

I want to write a love letter – but you are not yet here so who do I make it out to?

I’m sitting here in my chair thinking… Contemplating what I’d be doing if you were here with me… If you existed.  My guess would be that your humor would be A quality, and we’d probably be laughing and joking retardedly.  Trying to one up the other like rungs on a ladder, racin the staircase of fun, trusting love, oblivious to disaster… Or maybe today would have been your long day at work, and you got jerked, so rather than be one right away – I made you dinner first.  Swooped you right out of the car to lift your inner hurt, laid you down and rubbed you down… After dinner, then dessert, then boredom we desert… a power packed team, like double packed Energizer…

I want to write a love letter – but you are not yet here so who do I make it out to?

I guess… I guess if I was to best express upon this woodpress, the sentiment upon my heartness, I might say something like this…When you gon’ be home??  You know I get bored, and when my “entertain myself” gene gets to goin, and my creativity begins roamin that more often than not, parts of our house end up colored, rearranged or – broken.  I love you sweetheart, and I’m so glad that you don’t mind bein my other half, but I have a confession to make – please don’t laugh.  The truth is I say you’re my other half because it’s cute, and approved, but deep down I know – and I’m sure that you do to – that really you’re my other 75.  Before you I was, at best, in flux between 40 and 80, and then I met you and made you my baby, and sorry to the homies, but this fair maiden changed me – I used to be a dollar, but now I’m half a fifty cent piece.  And I love it.  Better than fresh pie out of the oven.  Sweetheart I’d fast ice cream for you if it ever came down to it, and don’t get reckless, but I’d die for you, give you my water and drink the sewage…

I want to write a love letter – but you are not yet here so who do I make it out to?

Some folks may think the way I write my love letters is lame and corny, but we’ll see who’s laughin when we all turn forty.  I’ll bet I’ll be happy with my lady who likes my crazy, and they’ll visiting on holidays like “Yo – she’s pretty amazing.”  You’ll be dying to meet another of her kind, steady givin me high fives, trying to learn the subtle principles of bein bonded to your other 75… Ah, but let me not count my chickens too soon, lest my eggs end up scrambled.  Until my baby comes through, this whole thing is just another love struck ramble… ramble… Hopefully, she’ll read this and see that it’s a sample, and then use technology to message me – tell me she wants a bite of my apple.  Wants a swig out of my Snapple.  She wants to join my hand in sumo stance with romance, and unyieldingly grapple.  How awesome would that be…  Until then my thoughts are left wandering, my wonders wonder fondly, and in my mind’s eye I see my nominated heart throbs marching before me… I need my other 75.  I need my Esther.

I have a confession – this is my love letter….

**

~The Wordsmith

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