To My Love

By Jessi Mounts <jessi@bmounts.com>

Rated G

Submitted July 2000

__________

To my love,

If I told you, Lois, that I never wrote a love letter until I met you, it would be a lie. I wrote dozens.

I traveled the world and saw more beauty and absurdity and despair and joy than I ever imagined could exist. I always knew I was looking for something, and I always swore to myself I was finding it. Everywhere I looked there was wonder; and if I could share that wonder with the people I passed by, what could be better than that?

But somehow, in the middle of all that, I found myself writing letters to the one woman I could never find. Oh, not a soul ever saw them on paper, including me. I probably looked pretty ridiculous. This tall, gangly American, completely oblivious to the crowd jostling him, gazing off into nothing.

It was never nothing to me. I wanted to share my life with her, whoever she was. Until I could find her to tell her that, this would have to be it.

And just when I'd stopped looking, convinced myself she was only a figment of my imagination, the most incredible woman I'd ever seen in my life burst through the door. She was vibrant, and she was fiery, and she was passionate, and she was wonderful, and she was you.

You, Lois. Always you.

Do you know when I fell in love with you? Well, okay, it was about twenty seconds before Perry said "Lois Lane, Clark Kent."

But do you know when I actually admitted to myself that I loved you, would always love you as long as I lived?

It was about a week after I met you, and by some great miracle, you'd agreed to have breakfast with me.

You were supposed to pick me up at eight, but at 7:43 I gave up staring at the clock, and at 7:44 you were answering the door. You wore one shoe, not a bit of make-up, and these two curlers the size of grapefruits. You looked beautiful.

Apparently, you weren't quite so thrilled to see me. One screech and an "I said *eight*, Clark!" later, all I had to admire was wood grain.

And at eight o' clock on the dot, you emerged, laughing, ready to take on the world. You laughed. Well, that's when I lost it. The world could've crumbled at my feet, and I probably wouldn't have noticed, as long as I could hear you laugh.

People say unrequited love is supposed to be torturous, but I don't believe it. You teased me when I needed it, even if I didn't agree. You showed up at my house, making strange demands at three in the morning. You laughed yourself into tears with me, and you listened when I thought my world was falling apart. And, without even meaning to, you reminded me that my world could never fall apart because you were there. For the first time in my life, someone understood. *You* understood.

Sure, it was frustrating that friendship was all there was to it, but torture? Never.

I love you. I don't think I could say that enough to tell you how much I mean it. I don't think there *are* any words that say that.

I wonder if anyone would believe how downright dull Superman's life could get. Oh, sure, I can fly off to the Amazon at any given moment. As long as that moment doesn't happen to be in the middle of the ambassador of Uzbekistan's speech. You think a city hall press conference is boring? Lois, you have seen nothing. The man is the ultimate cure for insomnia. Forget counting sheep. Just listen to a recording of this guy.

But as Superman, of course, I'm supposed to be a role model for the world at large. Looking bored is impermissable; snoring is forbidden. But there's no rule that says I can't let my thoughts drift. And last month, as usual, they drifted to you.

When I come home, you'll be there. Do you have any idea how wonderful that is to me? When I wake up, you'll be there. Every day for the rest of our lives, you'll be there, Lois Lane! There is nothing better than that.

Inevitably, with thoughts like this, a silly grin creeps on to my face, whether I'm watching you sleep or watching the ambassador of Ubekastan. The tabloids speculated for weeks about why a coma-inducing speech could possibly inspire a goofy smile on the face of the Man of Steel.

It's you, Lois. Always, only, you.

My world still falls apart sometimes, Lois. I held a little girl in my arms, a girl that I was just a second too late to save. One second. I'd have given almost anything for that one second.

She was six years old, Lois. Such soft, tiny hands. I've had to learn to face almost any disaster head-on and not flinch, but to look that girl's mother in the eye and explain I was just a second, a *second*, too late...

If it weren't for you, Lois, I'd fall apart. If you hadn't been there when it was all over, if you hadn't held me...

I need you to go on living. There just isn't any other way to say it. I need you.

Joy is real, and tragedies are bearable, and I'm not just living, but *alive*, because you are there.

I love you. I will never stop loving you.

I want to keep anyone from ever hurting you, and I want to make you laugh. I want to make your life as wonderful as you've made mine.

Lois, you are my friend, my joy, and my strength. There is *nothing* in the world better than that.

I love you. More than I can ever say, I love you.

Clark

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