To My Long-Suffering Husband

By Lisabet Sarai

My love,

I know that you won't read this, because you think that blogs are inventions of the devil (or at least Microsoft!), intended to suck up people's time and clutter search engine results. Given how many hours I spend writing, reading and commenting on these orgies of self-disclosure, you may be correct.

In any case, despite the fact that you'll never see these words, they come from my heart. Our relationship is pushing three decades, but I still love you dearly.

I'm intensely grateful that you were stubborn enough to resist when I tried to brush you off, back at that professional conference where we met so long ago. I figured that the last thing I needed was another lover, especially a long distance one. I'm thankful that you had other ideas. You're still stubborn (you say you learned that from your wife) but I'll admit, sometimes you're right. Certainly you were right about holding on to me. How did you know, after our brief acquaintance, that we'd fit together so well? I can't believe it was just blind luck. Maybe it was fate, that somehow we were “meant to be together”—but I'm not sure I believe in that concept, despite all the romances I've concocted.

I remember the night you proposed to me, in that nearly deserted inn in Taos. Remember all the beds in that family-sized room? We figured we should try them all! The evening you popped the question, we'd been living together no more than a week, most of which had been spent driving across the country. I couldn't believe how easy that trip had been, and how much fun. It felt like we'd known each other forever.

Still, I told you to wait a year and then ask me again. I didn't want to make a snap decision, given all the divorce in my family. I don't think you minded. Maybe you knew that I'd accept eventually, just the way you knew you shouldn't let go of me.

Our first Valentine's Day together, I bought you a world atlas, to chart our journeys together. Much as I loved the idea of traveling, I would never have dared dream how far our mutual passion for new places and cultures would take us. It never occurred to me that we'd eventually take up residence in an exotic realm halfway around the world from familiar America,or that in twenty-odd years we'd visit every continent except Australia. Thank you for being my guide and my companion on all those odysseys. Who would have guessed, too, that our preferences in travel would be so compatible? History, nature, people, food...strolling through ancient cities and bustling markets...trundling around on local buses...figuring out timetables in foreign tongues. I love your sense of adventure, which you haven't lost, even as we've aged together.

Speaking of adventures—we've definitely had some in the realms of the flesh, haven't we? I love your openness and sexual enthusiasm. I still like to hear the tales about your old seductions and your many lovers before we met. I've never met a man who loved and respected women so much—all parts of them, including their minds (although I still like to tease you about the way you stared at my tits when you first introduced yourself!) It's too bad that you find BDSM or M/M interactions uninteresting, but nevertheless that leaves a lot of territory for exploration. You've never tried to pretend that you owned me or my body. (You'd never put up with anyone pulling that on you, after all.)

In our wedding ceremony, we promised to be companions and co-conspirators. I love remembering some of the mischief we've hatched together!

I don't think I've ever written you a love letter before. During the six months we were separated, after our first connection, I think we corresponded, but I wasn't really ready to say “I love you”. I do remember your sharing a fantasy about making love in free fall (one thing we still haven't been able to try) and pointing out that we were born one day and one sunspot cycle apart. I probably sent you some titillating sexual fantasies of my own (perhaps a harbinger of my career as an erotic author). But love letters...not really.

Well, better late than never. I love you, my dear, more than I ever dreamed possible. I never believed in long-term relationships. My high school yearbook quote was from Simon and Garfunkle: “Hello, hello, hello, hello...goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye... that's all there is.” Yet our love is pushing thirty and stronger than ever, I think, even though our bodies have deteriorated a bit.

I love you, I need you and I enjoy your company: your creativity, your off-beat perspectives and your grimace-inducing puns. I love to cuddle up with you, head on your shoulder, and listen to your heart beat. I love your kisses. (You've always been a full-body kisser, from that first time on the sidewalk outside the Burmese restaurant.) Your intelligence awes me sometimes. Your practical capabilities—fixing plumbing, troubleshooting computers, making world-class granola—are an added bonus. Sometimes I think about what my life would be like without you. I force myself to think about something else, to appreciate today, this moment, our being together.

Probably we take each other for granted at times. After all the years, it's only natural. I hope that, even without reading this letter, you somehow know how much I love you. I'm remarkably certain that your feelings for me are similar—even when we disagree or annoy each other.

We're incredibly fortunate, my love. I'm incredibly fortunate. Thank you.

With love and gratitude,

Lisabet