I am waiting for the laundry to stop as I write this letter. I have cooked your favorite fish dish and my famous garlic fried rice for your dinner. Our Siamese and Dachshund pets are waiting for you. 

I can’t wait for you to go home from your busy day.

My love, I know it has been a long day for you, and I can’t wait to offer my arms around and hug you tight while we cuddle beside our pink and green bunny stuffed toys.

Tomorrow, it’s gonna be Sunday. You know what that means — it’s going to be a day for us to rest and escape from the heavy tasks from our work. We’ll go to my house to pick up my Dad’s gift for you, and we’ll drop by your place to give your Mom her favourite food. 

Now that I’m thinking about it, don’t you think it’s ironic that my Dad always bugs me when you two can finally meet again, so that he can teach you his own Grilled Bangus recipe that he takes pride in, while your Mom, on the other hand, asks me to eat with her at her favourite fast food chain?  

It’s like we’re the opposite biological children of our parents.

I also can’t wait to buy things for our home by lunchtime tomorrow. I would like to see how you’ll hold my hand on your right while you carry the shopping bags in your left. 

I can already imagine how other singles and couples would gush at us and whisper just how adorable we look together. 

Love, life has been so much better for us. We may be tired from a busy day, but at least we’ll rest on each other, cuddling like there’s no tomorrow. 

Yet, as I close my eyes and look at the lamp shade beside my desk — my love, the light becomes weird. 

Something seemed wrong. Absolutely wrong. 

Everything’s wrong. 

Now that I’ve tried to look back at the letter, finding where I had paused, I realize that you weren’t really beside me — no traces of your smooth, straight hair and pink strawberry-patterned pajamas.

Then, the realization struck me like lightning. 

My love, sadly, this letter wasn’t really about how excited I am for tomorrow.

It is a projection of my daydream — what we could’ve been had the world been kinder to us.

My love, is Margaret really your name in another life?

If I meet you, will I finally know what your favorite fish dish is? Will our pets finally have their names and not just exist as abstract puppies in my head?

Would our parents have accepted us? Would your mother, who could’ve hated fast food, ever stop threatening me? Would she, whenever I visit your home on weekdays when I don’t feel like myself, brush my hair the way mothers do?

Would my father remain quiet when I’d call you by phone? Will he learn to abandon his cherished slurs and grilled curses he takes so much pride in whenever he sees people like us on TV? 

Will we still need to hide inside bathroom stalls just to hold each other’s hands, laugh, and kiss?

Maybe in another universe, we would be so free.

A couple who playfully argue over appliances, who feed their pets with cute names, sleep on lazy Sundays, and laugh over your burnt bacon in our apartment filled with warm lights, far, far away from these cold walls we were taught as our “homes”?

Maybe in another life, I wouldn’t have to invent makeshift pets, houses, and hobbies to remember that loving you will always be something worth writing letters for. 

So tonight, in this world that keeps us from happening, I will write to you as if we exist

Because somehow, even in a life where I cannot hold your hand in front of your parents atop the dinner table, loving you remains the best thing that has and will ever happen to me.

Goodnight, my love. I hope tomorrow will be better.

Always, in all ways,

Your gf < 3

Discover more Pride-related literary and artistic works in The Angelite’s Pride Literary Zine, coming in the last week of June.