Love letter # 167

I hesitate to make promises, even though I want to. I’d like to say I’ll be the best but I know I won’t. I wish I had the strength to be constant but I’m as weak as anyone who ever told a lie. I could fluke perfection for a moment – maybe a day or two – but that sheen will soon be smeared.

Instead, I can try to love you every day. I can give what I have to give – a little more perhaps. I can let you be you, and like it that way. I can notice when it hurts.

I may not always speak your language, nor always listen, yet even the stupidest of my blunders will spring from tenderness.

Sometimes, there will be a flood. Sometimes a fire. One day everything will flow, the next be dammed.

But a day is not forever and a careless word is not a curse. When all my ill thought out, impulsive irrationality has crashed like a wave, all the little shells left scattered will have pearls inside.

My love may always be flawed but never, ever false. This much I can say.