A Whole Year Later

Dear Future Husband,

It’s been a year since I started writing and well, you’re still somewhere trippin’ and not here. I stopped writing you a long time ago because honestly, I kinda stopped thinking about you. I know, I know. You’re probably saying, “Oh, you’re just gonna give up on me like that?” and the answer is yes, yes I am. You’ve had plenty of time and opportunity to show up. Also, it hasn’t hurt that one of my friends, who’s already been married twice and is obsessed with finding a third husband, relocated out of state so is no longer around to constantly bring up the issue of men and marriage. So you just haven’t been my primary focus lately.

Actually, I did attempt to write you back in April. I wanted to talk about love languages. Wondering if you know what yours is and if your primary love language is the same as mine, Acts of Service. What I learned from my last relationship (don’t worry you’ll learn more about that later) is that when you share the same language, loving the other person doesn’t really feel like work at all. It comes naturally because you love the way you want to be loved. But what happens when the love language is different? My guess is that it feels like a stretch assignment for which you weren’t quite ready to perform. Hey, perhaps that’s why we haven’t come into each other’s lives yet. Maybe I’m not ready to do the work required to love someone who doesn’t love like I love, or maybe…you’re not.

Well, until we meet,

Your Girl

I Joined A Dating Site

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Dear Future Husband,

I joined a dating site. And not just any dating site, but apparently the one that’s known for people just “hooking up.” Honestly, I don’t know why I did it, except it was an early Saturday morning and something I’d just read, while scrolling through my TL, caught my attention, and before I know it I was headed to the site. Why I didn’t stop there? Curiosity. I wanted to see what the site had to offer, even though I knew, down in my spirit, it wasn’t the place I’d meet you.

There was this one guy. He was tall, dark and kinda-handsome. He was the only guy I actually exchanged numbers with, and talked to, because apparently, people match and then don’t actually talk to each other. It’s a very strange site. But anyway, he only wanted to talk about sex and I knew right away this wasn’t the site for me. And just so you know, I don’t mind talking about sex, but that’s not all I want to discuss, and it certainly isn’t the FIRST thing I want to discuss. I mean, the first question after we exchanged pleasantries was, “do you masturbate, and did you masturbate this morning?” Whoa whoa whoa. “Dude, you don’t qualify to ask or receive an answer to that question,” was my response. Needless to say, that was my first and last conversation with him.

It was actually the last conversation with anyone, as that one month of membership I paid for was a waste of money, and I’ve since deleted the account. You can reimburse me when we meet, by the way 😉. So I pray you’re not looking for me there because if you are, you won’t find me. You have a much better chance of meeting me on Twitter, IG or LinkedIn, where it’s free, and you can light weight get to know how I think and the things I’m interested in.

Well, until the next time. I’ll holla.

Love,

Your Future Wife

Wasn’t Thinking About You

Dear Future Husband,

For maybe two or three weeks I didn’t think about you much. I was busy working on some things that had me pretty occupied, like the second edition of my book. But then a friend came into town for work, and stayed over the weekend so we could hangout. We spent a day and a half laughing, analyzing his current relationship, and having deep philosophical conversations about nothing, but everything at the same time. Unfortunately, when he left, so did the peace I had prior to his coming.

Well it’s been four weeks since then, and I’ve since gotten my mind right. Though I won’t lie, the fact that men have been coming out of the woodwork lately has certainly helped. And while it has all been very entertaining I know that none of them are you. But because it has been entertaining, I’ve not been whining to the Father about when you’re going to show up. Actually I’ve spent time praying for you. You know, prayers like, Father, break up the relationship he’s currently in. Make him miserable until he does. LOL. Okay, maybe the prayer hasn’t been that crass, but I have been praying for you. I hope you’re well.

Until next time.

Love,

Your Future Wife

I Didn’t Fit In

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Dear Future Husband,

What a busy weekend it’s been. It’s now late Sunday night and I’ve just come in from an all-white day party in the city, thrown by one of the local chapters of my sorority. There were about 500 people in attendance, 400 of us were women. The music was great as were the hors D’oeuvres. I danced by myself, while eating a slice of pizza.

I hoped to meet you there. I hoped that you’d look past the other 399 beautiful women and see me from across the patio. Then you’d make your way over to me and say, “you don’t look like you’re having much fun.” And I’d respond with some witty retort, which you’d think was funny. We’d spend the next fifteen minutes talking, before being pulled away by a buddy of yours, but not before asking for my number. I know this all sounds dreamy, and honestly, though I hoped for it, I knew before I ever made it to the event that it wouldn’t happen. Not because I don’t think it could’ve, because I believe all things are possible. I just knew that it wouldn’t, and had resigned myself to enjoying the event without you.

Well, after two hours of standing and watching the crowds take pics, dance, buy drinks and stand around in huddles talking and laughing, the Holy Spirit said, “You don’t fit in here,” and it was at that point I decided I should leave. Though I love being on the Chicago River on a beautiful Summer evening, He was of course right. I don’t, for many different reasons, fit in with that crowd, so I quietly left the party and made my way home.

Welp, future husb, it’s late and I’m sleepy. so I’ll write you later. Good night.