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 surely 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, but even the stupidest of my blunders will spring from this tenderness I have right here.

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 the 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.

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