Letters

by Meg
(USA)

He always knew what I wanted.

I was the author-to-be, and it seemed that on every occasion, whether it be birthday, graduation, anniversary, or valentine's day, he found a new book for me. And it wasn't just any book: it was always a book about something we both loved that was dorky and on the way of what I was writing.

Mostly they were comic books because I was also an artist-to-be. He knew about the "to-be" part but he didn't care and always told me I would get there because I knew what I was doing. Well, I didn't exactly know what I was doing but I could look like I did.

It wasn't so much the books that I cared about, though I'd read them as soon as I got home. It was always the inside cover that was my favorite part. He'd always write a note inside. And some days, when I couldn't get myself to do anything, I'd open up the books and look at his words.

There's one he gave me at Christmas, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, leather-bound, right after his surgery. His handwriting's scraggly from too many prescription drugs and exhaustion, but he still wrote out the date and: Thank you for everything that you do for me.

There's more written than that, but it's beautiful. Not only does it show that he knows what I love, but also that he will take the time to articulate words for me, when my job is to form words. Words are very important to me. He recognizes this and gives them to me, which is the best double-fold gift I can imagine.