Love Letters in Glamour.
I haven't come that close to bawling on the train in a while...they have 7 'love letters' written by men. this one just killed me, so I have to type it out.
Dear Victoria
These days, my memory of adolescence is a frayed fishing net in which the gaps are great, but I do recall precisely what you were wearing the night we met when we were 18. There you are in the V-necked white linen blouse that falls untucked below the waist of your jeans, your small feet are bare, an antique silver necklace with moonstones that match your eyes falls along your slender neck and collarbone-a neck and a collarbone that to this day I find both elegant and just a tad wanton.
Like all teenagers, we thought we were very grown up. Certainly I was oblivious to the reality that eventually our faces would have the fine lines we euphemistically call character. But I was smitten. Utterly smitten.
More than 20 years later, it's the things I could not see that night that have drawn me closer still. Things like your gentleness with animals..........
And you are considerate beyond words. A lesser person would not have allowed my mother to believe all those years that her broccoli mold-her nightmarish concoction of creamed broccoli and aspic that she thought was festive but we all knew looked and smeled like something she had pulled from an air sickness bag-was edible.
Yes, you have your weakneses: Your car is a massive purse in which makeup, half-eaten granola bars and empty CD cases mingle togehter and prevent anyone from ever finding space in the passenger seat; you are so completely undone by technology that you can barely answer your cell phone; and you art studio looks like the Benjamin Moore paint factory after an industrial disaster.
But you're as beautiful to me as you were at 18-which you may know.
Here, however, is something you don't. In the thousands of nights we've slept together, I've never once fallen asleep without saying a small prayer of gratitude that I have you in my life.
All my love, Chris
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Dear Victoria
These days, my memory of adolescence is a frayed fishing net in which the gaps are great, but I do recall precisely what you were wearing the night we met when we were 18. There you are in the V-necked white linen blouse that falls untucked below the waist of your jeans, your small feet are bare, an antique silver necklace with moonstones that match your eyes falls along your slender neck and collarbone-a neck and a collarbone that to this day I find both elegant and just a tad wanton.
Like all teenagers, we thought we were very grown up. Certainly I was oblivious to the reality that eventually our faces would have the fine lines we euphemistically call character. But I was smitten. Utterly smitten.
More than 20 years later, it's the things I could not see that night that have drawn me closer still. Things like your gentleness with animals..........
And you are considerate beyond words. A lesser person would not have allowed my mother to believe all those years that her broccoli mold-her nightmarish concoction of creamed broccoli and aspic that she thought was festive but we all knew looked and smeled like something she had pulled from an air sickness bag-was edible.
Yes, you have your weakneses: Your car is a massive purse in which makeup, half-eaten granola bars and empty CD cases mingle togehter and prevent anyone from ever finding space in the passenger seat; you are so completely undone by technology that you can barely answer your cell phone; and you art studio looks like the Benjamin Moore paint factory after an industrial disaster.
But you're as beautiful to me as you were at 18-which you may know.
Here, however, is something you don't. In the thousands of nights we've slept together, I've never once fallen asleep without saying a small prayer of gratitude that I have you in my life.
All my love, Chris
