"If We Can Write Our Own Vows" or "Love Is Icky"

I wish I could tell you about going out tonight with my friend from work, and seeing the Sex and the City movie. I wish I could drive to your house, and eat leftovers on the floor, and talk about that the movie was good and showed me something about myself. That I got to the end, and it was romantic and lovely and just what it should have been in every way [not in the ridiculous P.S. I Love You way], and I didn't feel sad. I didn't stare at the screen and want a boyfriend or wish I was in love, I didn't look to each of those leading men and pray that I would find one like him and wish that I had one to go home too.

In fact, I was delighted that those characters on the big screen got such lovely men in their lives, and I was comforted that I had gotten just as lovely ones in my life before. And for once I didn't dwell on the heartbreak, and I didn't want it back, but rather took joy in that I once had it, and it was beautiful and bright, and the kisses were real and the romance was there and that was what mattered. Because remember, you don't have to possess it forever to make it count. Beauty doesn't have to be protected, you don't have to prove it to anyone, what matters is that you had it, not that it is eternal. Beauty shouldn't be eternal, maybe love shouldn't be either.

I would also like to tell you that I watched Amelie and thought of you, and that I wrote my essay for Colin's class and thought of you, and that I read my old journals to Ryan and we talked like best friends do and I told him you and I have a tradition of eating on the floor together and that I hope we always do that forever and ever.

I also want to tell you that Ryan donated old toys of his to my nursery, and that I had a wonderful morning with Ira today. I want to tell you that I have decided Ira is my new love, even if that might sound creepy to people who don't care to understand, but because that cheerful little boy knows nothing about my past or my faults, and even if he did he would love me. Because I could do anything and Ira wouldn't care, but he would still run to me when he cried, and he would still laugh at me when I call him a silly goose, and he would still tell me he loved me when he went to sleep no matter if I failed my math class or got in a car wreck or didn't make enough money. Ira will always, always be head-over-heels for me, and that counts for more than any other love I have ever had. You can't trust anything quite like you can trust a 3 year-old.

That is my Sunday.
Goodnight.

Sincerely Yours,
Genevieve