Dear Dear future husband,

You may be a nobody, or you may be somebody. I don't know yet, for I have yet to meet you. Or not, if that's how our lives are written.

I pray that one day I find you, that our lives are meant to be together by the grace of god.

The truth is you haunt me. Every morning I beat sense into myself that a man of honor is a fraud in our modern world, and finding someone like you would be as difficult as scaling the Himalayas. But it's only at night you come to me. A ghostly touch, gentle and reverent. A faint voice murmuring sweet nothings. A brilliant smile you kept just for me, seeing I was alone at night. Just before I fall asleep, I feel so loved.

You are a phantom, truly a nightmare I cannot get rid of. I see visions that seem impossible to come to me, yet I yearn and yearn myself to tears.

You make me hate myself. I long so desperately only to see I'm this pitiful over a man I do not even know. I hate you for making me smile and laugh in the dark when there's no one but myself. I feel like a silly schoolgirl... oh wait, I *am* a silly schoolgirl.

I can picture our lives together: busy, eventful, but happy. We come back from work, eyes ringed with tiredness but bright smiles as we make dinner. We talk about our days, you let me rant about my boss and I listen to whatever mundane tasks you've been doing all day long. As we clear up, I go off on a tangent about the Aztecs and their sacrificial culture and you chide me for talking about such strange and morbid history. But you're fascinated anyway, because we click together that way.

I know that you are a god-fearing man. That you long for a place in paradise amongst the righteous. And I pray for you. And I hope you pray for me. We will bring out the best in each other and help each other grow, as neither of us are perfect.

You are deeply flawed. I can tell although I have never met you. But I will still love you. We will learn to figure each other out, we will make an effort.

I don't know how to end this letter, for I just want to keep rambling to you. But I can see it clearly in my head... that one day, somehow you'd come across this letter. You'd read through and wonder if it was written by me, your wife. You'd ask me about this very thing you're reading, disturbing me from whatever book or documentary I was absorbed in. I would blush and read through and snap at you demanding if you really thought I was this sappy and how on Earth you had the time to sit through this whole book of a letter.

But of course, this was penned by your wife. Just ask her if she knows anything about the etymological origins of marriage. If she's the one, then congratulations, you have found the writer of this horrid letter. Thankfully this site is underrated so nobody probably visits it as much.

I love you lots, you dreadful phantom.