Dear You,

  I think you will be disappointed if you ever get here. I never think about you. I never picture your arrival. I would go as far to say: I have already stopped believing in you.
  Boys get tired of the chip on my shoulder pretty quickly, as in: one dinner date (if that). I think my demeanor and my eyes say it before mouth does. And he--whoever he is, internally hangs his head in defeat, and moves on. There is so much in the silences. If you ever come, I will explain that to you.
 Most of my friends say because I have already given up on you I show little faith in God. Some tell me I have a terrible attitude. I accept these accusations and to some degree believe they are both correct.    "Love is risky, but worth it!" they say. That never sits well with me. I wish something that is patient, kind, protecting and constantly persevering did not fall into the "risk" category. I always get sad at the state of our humanity because of that. Love is incredibly oxymoronic--"...Or just moronic." I usually say any time I can follow up that statement.
 I do not believe I am going to get any softer than I am right now. By the time you meet me, you'll probably overlook me. But had the timing been better, we would have been perfect together.
 I used to be a romantic; I mean...a romantic! I used to live poetry. Even when I was alone, I was in love. I used to take bubble baths, and wear berry lipstick, and florals of lavender and fuchsia and crimson. My skin always smelled of woodsy perfumes, and amber lotion. I used to curl my hair. I would sit on the bus and imagine you coming and sweeping me off my feet.
 But the impostors came...and they took a lot out of me.
 I take the blame for wrapping my imagination around a lot of lies and a lot of liars that pretended to be you. They pretended well--and I did too. But when it came down to our fallenness, I couldn't hack it. I couldn't deal with omission, and private nights in front of the computer screen, and sickness that tainted everything I ever thought I knew about love. I gave up on you when I knew that every day you'd have to put on the full armor of God to fight "Every Man's Battle," and instead of being a "Lady in Waiting" I decided to forgive you and forget you before either of us got hurt. Right now, I'm reading a book that is teaching me that I am "Captivating" and worthy your time because I'm worth God's time. But I do not feel as though I could be too captivating. If God wasn't captivating enough to keep man's attention prior to the fall, what makes me believe I will be captivating enough to keep you from stumbling?
 The only image in my mind I have of you, is this:

 I'm sitting across from you in a coffee shop, and we're still freshly married. I've already had one of our children and she's lying in the stroller next to me. I start talking to you about something enchanting, while I'm half distracted with feeding her. A gorgeous, thin, pore-less, woman in a short skirt walks in and for a moment you take your eyes off me...and you're gone. I lose you.
 The next part is kind of cloudy, because I can't figure out which one is worse: Do I want to be aware of it and become a puddle of used up goo on the floor? Or do I want to be the idiot who is oblivious to it? Do I want to be completely broken or a complete ditz? In reality, I suppose I look like a fool either way.

 I used to believe in fairytales. There is no fall in Utopia, and there's no lust in Heaven. Unfortunately, our life together is already shards of glass my battered feet will never be prepared to walk through.

 Dear You,

  If you're out there looking for me--
 
  Stop.

  We'll both be better off if I never know you.