Love Letter: (Failed) Attempt #2

Dear Anatole,

It is, still, a miracle to me of how we actually gotten together. We are distinctly different, like the sun and the moon; but we are the same - we are both part of the vast blue sky.

We met again randomly on the streets, after so many years, and we sat in a café and talked about everything and nothing. You changed into a more mature man, but you are still the same guy I've known in school. You said I seemed to be more attractive, physically, emotionally, mentally, and witty. You even added "guys like witty girls". Till now I don't know whether you are flirting or you are just simply complimenting me; you don't want to comment anything about it whenever I ask you about it, stating that things are best left mysterious. Whatever your mysterious statement means, one thing is clear: we got together.

You taught me French, that romantic language I had been wanting to learn so much, and it was only then I realized I don't have the talents for languages. Je t'aime aussi - the word you had been so enthusiastic about. For one week that was the only word you taught me. You tried to perfect my pronunciation, wanted to turn me into a native French belle, you said.

And then on my birthday...

You are such an evil man. And yet that was - is - the reason I love you. You're my exclusive Devil.

In exchange for your romantic French lessons, I taught you how to play the piano. Your friends once told me you went to pick up the violin so that you could play me that violin concerto I love a lot. You laughed at me when I confronted you with it, but your mother did tell me about the squeaky sound she heard from your bedroom! What can you say about that?

You promised me that when we get married (eventually), you would bring me to South Africa during spring to witness the ocean of flowers I always wanted to see. And you said you would bring me for a backpack trip in Europe and get a ride in the hot air balloon in Germany for our second honeymoon. How about our third honeymoon? I asked. You said you would be too poor to pamper me by then. Oh, how devilish of you! But I already feel like honey, even if we are not honeymooning.

Since the past 4 years, I've witnessed you changed from Mr. Romeo to a more mature, stable and humble man, not to mention less macho. You said it was because of the heavy workload; your friends said it was because of me. I don't know which to believe, but I can still embrace you like last time, because you're still mine, and because you're the same man I love. Have I changed? You give me the same answer everytime I ask you: you're still the same girl I know and come to love 4 years ago.

My answer would be 'yes'. Happy birthday, Devil.

Amorette, your exclusive Angel

Extracted from here