I Am An Individual Who Is Not Mean To Be Individual

Hi. I love you. I want to marry you.

I want to build a house with you.  A home made with our own two hands, where we can sleep all we want, laugh without being told we’re too loud, have old friends visit us, cry without being worried about, throw up without being heard, make Love in privacy, and exhale deeply when we walk into it saying “It‘s so good to be home!”.  It will be all ours and it will hold our possessions and holiday decorations and pictures and book of all our adventures we’ve had together.

I want to have a bed with you where we’ll fall asleep holding each other, wake up next to each other’s smiling faces in the morning-or afternoon-and make thunder under the covers.  
I want to have meals with you where I’ll learn what you hate and never make it for dinner and learn what you love and surprise you with it after a hard day.  

I want to live a life with you.

I want to take care of you in the special way that I’ll only care for you in, just as you’ll take care of me because my life will be spent serving others.  But you’ll be in my life, the one good thing in my life, that keeps me strong and keeps me patient.  I want to be there during the bad times.  When someone close to you dies and you feel like there’s nothing left to live for, I’ll remind you of your purpose.  When you experience a traumatic event, the kind that creeps up on good people and no one ever finds out why it happened to you, of all people!  I want to give you security.  When you’re feeling low and hating yourself, I want to show you Love.  When you’re tempted with the sins of your past, I want to remind you of who you have strived so hard to become.  When you forget me, I want to forgive you, because you’ll be worth it.  When you mess up, big time, I want you to chase after me because I know I’ll be waiting for you if you just show me that it was a mistake and you still care for me the most.  We all do unbelievably stupid things, don’t we?


I want us to have jobs that we can support each other with, but we’ll be passionate about so we can come home to tell each other about them.  I want you to take me to your work parties and you can visit my school to meet my students.  We can go to friends’ holiday parties and socialize with other people, but sit by each other and be “that couple” that everyone envies.  I want to sit together in church and talk about the sermon on the drive home.  I want to hear every stupid detail about your day and I’ll listen as if it’s the best story ever told, because it will be just as exciting coming from your mouth.


I want to grow old together.

I want to compare teeth and take bets on who gets denchers first.  I want to look at you the same way I did when we were young and find you just as attractive, because you’ll be the only attractive man in my eyes, even with your bald head and wrinkly sagging skin.  We’ll be together so long that we won’t notice we’ve gotten old.  I want you to only stare at me when my cellulite is obvious in my bathing suit, when there are young women in bikinis everywhere.  I want us to have countless inside jokes from years of being together, and as many dreams and goals as memories that we reminisce over while we’re laying in bed at night.  I want us to hold hands while we’re reading on our couch together, and I want to read Psalms together when we both can’t sleep.  
I want our grave stones to be side-by-side, and we’ll have a double funeral because as soon as you die, I’ll die too.  I won’t kill myself, or die of starvation or bulimia.  But once you leave this world, I won’t have the will to stay in it.  My immune system will shut down, along with the rest of my organs, one by one, until I am too thin to stay on the ground and too tired to get up, all the while praying I’ll shut down faster.