Being proposed to is one of the only things that has truly left me speechless over my long existence. I am used to being desired, an urge one might indulge in now and again, only to need distance moments later. I felt as if I would never move again, as if every thought I had simply was not. I will never forget the look upon Kristine’s face, the way she held the ring as she glanced upward to me, the way words refused to leave my lips. It was a blur, though I vaguely remember screaming, though I believe it was more in shock than excitement.
I demanded if she was certain. I insisted she had not thought this through. She was not hurt, did not become enraged at my own emotions. Instead, she laughed and asked with mirth, “I know! It’s exciting, right?”
My Kristine, my perfect specter of all I have longed for, I do not know how you remain composed in my chaos. At this point, I find myself not desiring to discover your secret. I will be pleased with where I am and never reject your affection.