Dear John

Dear John,

You remind me of sunny summer says and fireworks on the hood of your car. You remind me of pain, and redemption, hurt, and how it feels to be safe for once. You remind me of Bonnie and Clyde on Wednesday nights with popcorn. You remind me of Theraflu, chicken noodle soup, and every Marilyn Monroe movie that you could find when you first saw me sick.

You remind me of trying to save birds and naming fish and plants. You remind me of TGI Fridays, city streets, Starbucks lattes on cold winter nights, new apartments, antique shops, and donuts for dinner while watching stupid reality shows.

You remind me of fine lines between faith and hope, salvation and sin. You remind me of random dances and flashes of color on concert nights. You remind me of not getting home until two in the morning and empty morning streets. You remind me of sunrises and western pink sunsets.

You remind me of Steak N Shake shakes and cold pizza on the side of the road. You remind me of getting stuck in the snow and long walking trips up an icy driveway in the darkness of night with a full moon guiding us. You remind me of helping people, whether we know them or not. You remind me of no questions asked. And you remind me of Purple Rain.

You remind me of bookstores and the weight of an armful of new novels and classics. You remind me of all night LOST marathons and chocolate kisses. You remind me of frosty air on my lips and cold winter days in the woods.

You remind me of happy songs with the windows down and dancing in the car. You remind me of wood and the smell of sawdust, and of trunks and talent. You remind me of geese and picnics, politeness and charm.

You also remind me of stupid fights, storming out, and then making up five minutes later.

I see you in our children. I see you in roses, lilies, and in the sunshine. I see you in beauty, magic, all things defined, and everything worth fighting for. I love you.

Love eternally,
Jess