Dear "The Other"
I wish you were all that and a bag of nuts. I wish you were so spectacular that noone would blame me at all for leaving everything behind and running off with you. I wish that you were so incredible that the rest of the world trembled in wonder when you pursued me relentlessly because in comparison I would be nothing. You could be all those things, I'm sure. But you aren't and unless you make it happen you won't. You could be so worth giving everything up for. You could be. . . Someday. I hope I see that day. I hope I can look back and say "I could have had that, but I foolishly let it go" because at that point I don't know why you'd want a humble often sick housewife who broke your heart way back when. But I fantasize about it.

I fantasize that you go on and really do something with your life and then you come back, fit and healthy and active, and with full confidence you pursue me, telling my family, my husband, my husbands family, anyone who will listen that you love me with all your heart and you simply can't let the chance to spend the rest of your life with me pass you by again, not without at least trying your hardest. And even when I spurn your contact you don't give up. Even when I return your letters and send the flowers back and seem an ungrateful cur for the presents I don't accept, you keep trying until everyone around me thinks I'm insane for turning you down. Till even "The One" thinks I'm nuts for turning you down. And then one day I'll give in, like I've always wanted to. And even when I'm cursing you for trying you'll know I want to give in. You'll know I'm just waiting a little longer, just fighting to make you prove beyond a doubt, but really really wanting to give in. And the sex after all that time will be fantastic, and the story of how you won me over the world's most unapologetically chick flick ever made. . . Yeah, I fantasize. I wish you were all that and a bag of nuts.

What dreams may come,
Penn