This is a letter about my love

The sun, the moon, the stars—I love instinctively.

Food, water, shelter, I love boundlessly.

My family, friends, and my dog, I love unconditionally.

And my Mr. Darcy, I love with all my heart.

Like Lizzie Bennet’s Mr. Darcy he isn’t perfect.

He’s shy in public—sometimes it can come off aloof and a bit snobbish, especially when he’s particularly picky about how “smart” people are. He’s smart and savvy and is the head of his family. He’s well-traveled and cultured because of his upbringing. And it doesn’t hurt that he is a man of means and property—all of which I have myself.

Outwardly, he is a prim and proper British gentleman.

But privately, he is an Italian, passionate and dramatic—sometimes a bit too much for my Asian sensibilities.

Ambitious, a dreamer, he is like everyone else—plagued with uncertainty and self doubt.

Form hime, I learn patience, forgiveness, and trust—all of which my mother often complains I lack.

With him, I feel like myself. I never feel like I have to “look pretty” because he always see me as pretty. I never have to behave like a different person with him. I am start, smart, and direct—sometimes a bit too blunt. Yet, he stays by my side, still in love with me.

Most of all, with him, I am happy.