You’re now a week beyond 7, and light years ahead of me it seems sometimes, so I should write this now in case old age should claim me sooner than later.
There are three women you’re going to meet. Your mother doesn’t want to talk about it right now, and it’s understandable. You’re supposed to be her baby forever. I remember when you weren’t even talking and she’d get upset because I’d read revolutionary literature to you and she felt you needed winnie the pooh and those guys. She doesn’t understand us Walker men.
I don’t know her name, but she will hit you, and tease you and you will fall madly in love. And your heart will be broken when her fickle heart gets donated to some other little boy in your class around valentine’s day. It’s fine. There are plenty of these women out there. But this calf love has to happen. There are reports that some couples have been together forever. This won’t happen for you, and for good reason.
The woman who introduces you to true love is the woman you marry. She will show you how to levitate and move things with your mind, and dream bigger than you could alone. You will love her and she will love you back fully. Fall in love with the woman you think about hard when sad love songs play; the woman who reminds you of all the good food you’ve eaten. The woman you’d call if your plane was going down, after you called me and your mother. Me? No, I didn’t do this, or haven’t done this. The fool that I was. But if I had been smart then, I would have given only half a heart and a few pennies.
Your deathbed bride. The woman who will hold your hand and tell you everything will be alright knowing things are going to fall apart as soon as your eyes shut. She loves you harder than all the others. The trick is this: (well, not so much a trick) your deathbed may just as easily be the woman who taught you to dream big and levitate. Time, love, children (?), and new eyes for the world have made her a better woman. She’s put on a new dress like the moon sometimes does. Love her as hard as she loves you in case it’s you telling her things will all be alright, staring at the clock praying to go within minutes of her.
I just want to be the old man you tell these women stories about when the mood is light and there is time on your hands.