Love Letter Found in a Thrift Store Purse
April 13, 2012 1 Comment
While searching for a summer purse that would hold my all my stuff (I was especially looking for one that would hold my new Logitech tablet keyboard), I stopped at a thrift store in the Highland Park neighborhood of St. Paul, MN. I tried out several purses, and in one I found a surprise. A love letter.
It was so touching, I couldn’t believe that its recipient wouldn’t cherish it forever, even if the relationship might have ended. I didn’t get the purse, but I took the letter and went next door to the Panera Bread and typed it into this post. Every woman should have a letter like this. And, Cynthia, I left the big “cow print” purse at the thrift store, but if you want your letter from Greg Haywood, I have the original. I tried to find Greg online (and even looked for Cynthia Haywood, in case you married him), but Haywood is too common a name. So, I will just print the letter here and maybe it will find you.
The letter was written with no capital letters, so added those, but left everything else as written.
I don’t know where it is that we are at in love. I look at love as an entity. If it were in physical form, like a country. And maybe we are on the coast or maybe we are smack dab in the middle of it.
When I think of where it is we are at, I am amazed at the transformation of the relationship. For obvious reasons, our foundation was made on something strong. It could be argued that it could be built on something stronger, if the circumstances had been ideal, but as we clearly have learned by now, nothing about this journey has been ideal. It has been a fairly unique set of obstacles that we have had to overcome.
There are times where the love that I have for you seems really overwhelming. I would label myself possessive, but I do want you all to myself. I do acknowledge that you are hot. Very attractive. And those same qualities that drew me to you probably are sensed by other men. It’s just something about you. Maybe it’s the way you carry yourself. Your demeanor is sexy. Your smile rocks. There are those that probably see the great conversationalist/friend side of you, and also get the sense that you’d probably have some sexy things going on in that head of yours, and that you’d be great in bed. I think there is a part of you in denial about it. Either way, there are men that probably see that in you and think “jackpot!” and they’re right. You are a jackpot and you are a keeper. My keeper. My diamond in the rough.
I will try and do all I can to keep you happy. To make you content and satisfied and not neglect you or make conditions such that you wander to the “other side of the fence.” I feel I only have one chance to do this and to do this right. I played such a secondary role during my last foray into love. This time? I leave noting to chance. If I can’t make it work in something that has felt as effortlessly as this has and as easy going as this relationship has predominantly been, then I will walk away from love forever. I picture us discussing this and your response would be something like “you shouldn’t feel that way” or “even if this doesn’t work, you have so many great qualities you should love again.” But, honestly Cynthia? No. Because I’m not this teen in love. Or this kid that sees the world, and love, with blinders on. There is so much that is right with us. And you know that. And if all those rights don’t translate into a committed, happy, everlasting, ’til death do us part, loving relationship, then true love must just not be what I am meant to have.
You are looking on the verge of drooling over there. I love you enough that I will wake you before the saliva falls or I will break out a napkin, or use the bottom of my shirt to catch it (insert my creepy trademark laugh here). I look forward to this weekend, another adventure for you and I. Hopefully, we find good deals, good gifts, good food, good times and maybe some new hoop earrings while we’re at it. We’re a great team Ms. Cindy. I’m glad for whatever it was that made you fall for me despite the world I was in at that time. Maybe you really wanna be Mrs. Greg Haywood. Hmmm . . .
Loving you more with each fairly silent snore,