I know you’re out there. And you know you’re out there, too.
I don’t know what you look or sound like, but I do know that you remind me of someone I’ve met before or have seen in a movie or on the subway or at the airport or Yankee Stadium or in my dreams or, come to think of it, perhaps it was on Facebook.
I know that you’re nice and also good. And even though I don’t know what you look like, I can see this nice goodness (or good niceness) in your eyes and in your smile, and I’ve often felt your warm, faraway gaze upon me, particularly when I’m asleep and sometimes in the shower.
The way you look at me is the way that no one has ever looked at me before. It’s like you’re wearing a magical version of those X-ray Specs that used to be featured in Bazooka bubble gum and in the back of comic books, and you can see who I am and who I was and who I will be. And I can also see you in the exact same way. It’s like seeing each other naked without really being naked, although that will come later.
Simply put, we were meant to be. In Hebrew, it’s called “beshert” but that’s not to say that you will be Jewish. We are destined to be together and we’ve both known it since we were little children right out of a book by Haruki Murakami or Wes Anderson’s latest twee movie. I used to tell my mother about you and you grew more beautiful with each telling, and she said that we would find each other someday because that’s the way true love works, and then told me to shut up and go finish my homework. Maybe your mom told you to shut up, too!
You’re amazing, and no similes can do you justice because you’re incomparable, but I’ll give it a shot anyway. You are:
… as smart as lots of books (most of which I’ve read) combined into one big book.
… as sexy as Penélope Cruz applying deodorant first thing in the morning.
… as compassionate as thick, natural wool socks in a blizzard.
… as insightful as a four-year-old who has lived several past lives.
… as fearless as Gandhi, but without all the fasting.
… as kind as the fantasy mother in our daydreams about perfect moms who never tell you to shut up.
… as sweet as candy to my soul, sweet you rock, and sweet you roll (thanks, Dave).
In other words, you are “the one” – although there are hundreds, maybe even thousands like you.
But you are the only one for me.
You’re either tall, short or medium. You have blonde, brunette, black, red or auburn hair, or maybe you wear a wig. You’re thin, average, curvy or full-figured. You’re white, black, Asian, Hispanic or other. You’re Jewish, Christian, Catholic, Islamic, Hindu, Buddhist, agnostic or atheist, anything but Mormon or Scientologist. You’re rich, poor or make a comfortable living. You have children, want children or were once a child yourself.
Most importantly – you love me and I love you.