Destined . . . ?

I am afraid that I may learn to need you more than you'll need me. I want to love you with every fiber of my being, but is that possible without entangling my creeds and weaknesses into your very soul? I would do anything for you, and the danger that could potentially lie ahead is a footnote to the life we should and could live. I've exposed myself, my fears and worries to you and it'll burn if you decide that one day you no longer care. I hope that you won't forget me and need me no longer. I don't believe in forever, so let's make this last as long as humanly possible. Be here for me and I will be here too. I want to caress you and nothing less. I will massage the knots out of your shoulders when the weight of the world weighs you down, as long as you will massage the awful thoughts out of my mind. Give me yourself and I will give you no less in return. I love you tremendously, distance will never falter our devotion. I will continue hoping that we are destined. . .

I'm bending time getting back to you ma femme.I hope they never find out what they already know.

My first year is coming to an end & I can tell you that the majority of the lessons I learned were outside of the classroom. Mommy I know I haven't made you the proudest with the grades but you taught me life lessons that I will take with me wherever I go. That's what I'll forever in a day cherish. It'll get better, I believe you. Someone said that it's just growing pains, & indeed it is. The journey's long & it feels so bad. I know my eyes will be puffy in the morning & it might not feel the best but at least I felt it.

You Could Have My Heart or We Could Share It Like the Last Slice. . .

I'm sitting here in this vacant kitchen, thinking of her, and as of late she has found a home in my thoughts, in a way that no one has done before. She's branded me. My words will give no justice to how outrageous this feels to be alone, thinking of another that has never looked into my eyes. Forgive me.

My mom is gone and I am sad. My Nush is gone, and that fact alone will always be a sore spot until she is able to come home and fill her spot, in this chair beside me. The refrigerator is buzzing and the only other things I hear are the click clacking of the keys under my fingertips and the shy sighs that release this smoke. I hate being alone. Actually, I hate being without them. I thought that maybe I could read the book mom gave me, but that would just be torture. Je suis silencieuse.

What are you afraid of? The Love Below. . .