Dear Future Husband

It may be the weekend, but you’re crazy to think we’re sleeping in. As the morning rainfall patters against the windowsill, nature’s song is drowned out by high-pitched giggles in the hallway. You grumble something I can’t quite make out before rolling in the opposite direction with the covers in tow.

“Alright,” I give in. The door swings open and our chickies slip into the sheets between us. Somehow I wind up with a tuft of Girl’s hair in my mouth, the two of us spooning tightly as if she’s seeking her return to the comforts of the womb; while Boy has perched himself on top of you, his head cupped beneath your chin, chest to chest; his little feet finding a perfect resting place on your thighs. Face it: you’re pinned.

This is how I visualize it: our life together. Sometimes, when I’m stirring the cinnamon into my coffee, I think about pouring you a cup, as well. The smell of fresh caramelized beans warms me to the bone…but then suddenly you’re the one warming me, my mind wandering to your hands on my waist and the kiss you plant on my bare shoulder; I’m molded to you. And when that vision dissipates and I’m still standing at the kitchen counter stirring the cinnamon, I can feel the gentle brush of your lips linger briefly.

I may not have met you yet, but I love you madly. I trust you. I choose you…every single time. And in the evenings, when I’m enraptured in moments of silent rumination, illuminated by the soft glow of twinkle lights and faint instrumentals sweeping the walls surrounding me; I can see your silhouette–a shadowy hand reaching out for mine, inviting me to share this dance. So, I close my eyes and picture myself waltzing in your arms throughout our home–but then I come to my senses again and remember you’re only a figment.

I don’t know your name yet or where you are in the world; the color of your eyes or the tone of your voice. I don’t know if our paths have crossed at some point without our knowing, or if we share a birthday (I’m an Aquarius). But your childhood intrigues me, as do your passions and ambitions. I wonder what your favorite ice-cream flavor is, and if you like Old Bay on your popcorn like I do. I try to imagine what your laughter sounds like; if it’s the kind of laugh that starts in the pit of your belly or one that bursts from the cavity of your chest.

I can’t wait to laugh with you; to lovingly tease each other and share jokes only we understand; to fill our glasses with wine and get lost in conversation about art, politics, and subjects that matter most to us; to stay up late and share my writing with you. I want to learn how to cook your favorite meals your mom used to make you and try recipes that will become your new favorites; to heal you when you’re sick and squabble with you over which direction the toilet paper goes in.

We’ll plan surprise birthday parties and host our loved ones for the holidays; I should tell you now that I’ll argue to keep the Christmas lights up all year round–just think of all the new traditions we can start together. If you take out the trash, I’ll fold the laundry; and while I do the dishes, you can play lifeguard while our chickies take a bath. And if you only knew how excited I am at the idea of impromptu road trips; the thought of linking my arm with yours as we parade through life; or cuddling with you and tracing my finger along the curvature of your jaw. I always lose myself in your adoring eyes while you tell me about your day.

And when money is tight and stress wears on you, I hope you let me be your solid ground. I promise I’ll always be there to catch you and prop you up.

Not a day goes by when I don’t think about you, whether we’ll know it right away or if it’ll take time to realize the role we’re meant to play in each other’s lives. I’m embarrassed to share that I’ve always been shy and afraid, rejected, and insecure; past loves have been nonexistent, and I am inexperienced; but as my husband, I know you won’t judge me for this. You won’t shame me or tear me down. You will be patient; my first of many, many things–perhaps even my first romantic date, my first meaningful kiss, the first touch I’ve ever been brave enough to receive.

You will probably be the first one worthy of my trust and vulnerability, the parts of myself I rarely show to anyone–the parts I’ve never shown to anyone. And although we have yet to meet, I already love you. I pray for you and yearn for you; I believe in you and I believe in us: lifelong companions, allies, and soulmates.

And if you ever find yourself losing hope, if you ever feel so deeply alone and broken; remember you have me. I am real, I am yours to keep, and I am out here waiting for our turn to be together.


If you like this article, check out: https://www.harnessmagazine.com/girlfriend-material/

by Sandy Deringer

Aspiring author, student of life, and highly-introverted woman---but the latter is simply one of my greatest attributes. A visionary with degrees in the humanities and science, I've honed my quiet, creative, and empathetic tendencies with the intent of leaving a lasting impact on the world. Contributing writer with Thought Catalog, Honeyfire Literary Magazine, Our Verse Magazine, The Mighty, Highly Sensitive Refuge, and Introvert, Dear. I'm also slightly obsessed with dogs, freshly-brewed coffee, yoga, Hallmark Channel movies, and books.


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