Letter Number Two

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My darling Mr. Forever,


Do you want to know what I want more than anything right now.

I want to go on a date with you (: I want to wear a black dress and chunky heels and a respectfully tinted shade of lip gloss. I want my hair to curl in all the right places, and I won't wear too much make up, because it will look dark and harsh against the night sky.

I'll be waiting on you, impatiently as always, and when I see you, a smile will erupt from deep within. I will have planned dinner for us on the rooftop overlooking the city. And I will amaze you with my ability to prepare yummy italian food, and also my talent to string up the perfect amount of lights.

After dinner, you ask me to dance. "Why?" I ask.
"Because it happens in all the old movies," you say. "Besides, what's a little dinner without dancing?" You ask me. I only shrug, not entirely sure of what to say. But I am afraid that our dance is more of an attempt than an actual action for the simple fact that I have balance issues and two left feet. But you only smile at me for this. "Relax," you tell me. "Let me lead." But we both giggle because we know how hard it is to hand the reins completely over to someone.

I pull you over to a corner instead, and as we cuddle on a blanket, I feel exactly like a rockstar cinderella in the arms of her prince charming. You ask for a story to fill the silence as we gaze into the stars and I ask why.
"You're good at telling stories," you say, and it makes me laugh, because this is not true, but I decide to humor you anyway.

So, I tell you about the future. About careers, and houses, and babies. And when I look into your eyes, I can tell you want all of these things too. And then I tell you of a boy with eyes full of stolen stars and a heart that beats only for me.This makes you smile and you wrap your arms around me. It is late spring, and although it isn't at all cold, I press myself closer into you. Because you make me feel special, and because you smell good (:

You tell me of a little boy with dark brown hair and a little girl with long curly hair so gold that it's almost white in the sunlight. "Who's children are these?" I ask and you chuckle. "Ours of course." You say. And this make me smile because I have been thinking of this too.

You tell me how wonderful they will be, how well mannered and thoughtful and kind. You promise you will step back and let them do their own thing, but still provide structured criticism and discipline along the way. You tell me of all the things you want to give them like Disney world and love and tree houses. I smile. "You'll be a good father," I say. And that wonderful half grin appears on your face. "And you'll be an excellent mother." You reply.

We talk about the ocean until it gets too late, and you try to help me clean up, but I tell you to leave it for tomorrow. Because there is no rain coming tonight. You help me start up the dishwasher all the while telling me corny jokes that I laugh to regardless to whether or not they are funny. You wait respectively in the living room while I shower and dress for bed.

My hair is bundled up on top of my head, and I have on my comfy, ratty sweatpants and a t-shirt. I mumble something about not liking it when you see me without make up, but you smile and tell me that I don't need it anyway. That I am gorgeous without it.

You then walk me to my room, and wait for me to crawl into bed. I comment ob how much more patient you are than me, and you laugh. As you pull up the covers and tuck me into bed, you plant a kiss on my forehead. "Goodnight Cinderella. I'll see you tomorrow." You say.

And then you go home to your own apartment to sleep, because we plan on waiting, and we want it to mean something special when we're in bed together.We want to be each other's forever. And you call to tell me that you made it home okay, because I'm the type to worry. And we pray together for each other on the phone, because we're just that cool. And I ask you to stay on the phone with me until I fall asleep because you are the very last thing that I want to hear if I never wake up again.

-The Beginning-

Love forever,

Letter Number One

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Dear Mr. Forever,

This is for you, my dear, for I want you to understand how much I already care about you. I want you to realize that at eighteen years old with a cruddy part-time job slaving away at Dollar Tree for $7.25 a hour, I already love you. This may sound strange, because we have never met. But I know that God has already designed our life together :) is that not too cool? I want you to know that although our story has yet to begin, I think about you everyday, and I want you to know that I am impatiently awaiting your arrival. I love you. :)

I'm not going to lie, this will probably not be a day-to-day thing, because I am a slacker and such, but I hope this is special to you regardless.

The main focus of this letter. or blog, or post or whatever you want to call it is the fact that I have cut once again. It's mostly healed now and the majority of it has turned over to a scar, but all the same, it's there. An ocean wave right on my right thigh.

I want to talk to you about this. I want to explain my cutting and all the scars that follow. I have cut a combined total of eighty-seven times in the last two years. Twenty-four scars are still visible to this day. Two are in picture form, two are words, and twenty scars are mere lines.

I think that there would have possibly been a lot more had I not learned how to scar myself until the end.

I want to explain to you the place that I am and was in. I want you to realize that I am truly in a hard spot. I believe that people get sucked into moments and they are unable to escape for some reason. I think this is what is wrong with me now. I was sucked into a moment, and I have allowed myself to stay so long that I have forgotten where the door is, or if there is a door at all. I think that I get so lost in this moment that I feel like I need to cut myself in order to keep from floating away, like cutting has somehow kept me grounded. But now I realize what it is that I need.

Darren Tyler Duncan once told me that if I didn't stop cutting, he couldn't or wouldn't be my friend anymore. He told me that he wasn't going to watch me kill myself. Since that day, I have cut four times.

We're still friends.

I always knew that it would take more than friendship to get me to stop. I took you.

There is a website called sixbillionsecrets.com. And I like to get on and read other people's posts. Sometimes I wonder if I'm reading one of yours. The other day I saw a secret worth sharing, and it made me realize something.

Mom, today when I came home with your name tattooed on my wrist, you told me it was sweet but a bit irrational.
I got your name tattooed so if I ever started cutting myself again, I would be reminded i'm destroying somethign that also belongs to you.
I love you, and you have been the best reason to stop

I cried over this for forever, because I want so badly to tattoo your name on my leg. I want it there to remind me when things get tough and I feel the urge to pick up my knife again, that I am cutting into something that is as much yours as it is mine. That I'm scarring up something that is yours. I want you to know that you are the very best reason for stopping :) I love you.

Love,