Sometimes I like to write.

Dear Future Husband.

Hello! 

Right now I’m 18 years old, and I have no idea what I’m doing with my life, but hopefully by the time we meet I will have figured that out. I wonder who you are, and if I know you already. I hope we have one of those stories that you read about in romance novels, that make girls who can’t live the story cry and that gives unrealistic expectations to people. 

I can’t promise to always do the right thing, (because honestly, looking at my track record I tend to be that kid that learns by mistakes) but I can promise to always know when I’m wrong. I can promise I’ll always love you, in my way. If you listen to music with me, and if we can share all our secrets, and have adventures to tell our kids, then I will always be yours. I have very definite expectations about life, and at the same time I don’t. I want to name our son Declan Bradford and our daughter Evangeline, so that I can sing her lullabies. Maybe you’ll play guitar or we can sing together! I hope so. 

I’ll bet your the most handsome man in the world. And I hope you’re tall. If you’re not that’s okay, I’ll love you anyway, but I really hope you’re tall.

I love you. And I’m waiting for you. Please be safe!! I’ll pray for you. I think about you, and hope you’re somewhere nice. Make good choices. =) Or someday I’ll give you shit for them, because I like making fun of people. Until we meet, or if we have, until we get married, have a wonderful life, and we can tell each other the stories when we’re old.

I love you forever.

Your future wife, Steph 

Freewrite #15

He looked at her with pity in his eyes.
He let her cry. She was grateful.
He knew this was what she needed.
Somehow this sadness comforted her,
instead of making her lash out,
like it would later.
She had no words.
She needed none.

The second one let her speak. 
She let her say things, 
the first one to listen.
Like a therapist should.
She had a daughter too, she said. Somehow this helped. She looked at her sadly, too,
she offered tissues, she was kind.
She was kind.

By the third she was numb,
she was cold, 
shaky,
sick to her stomach.
But she forced her to speak.  She was hard and solid and kept her parents in the room.
The tears came, but these burned with shame.
They blamed her. Never once did anyone tell her
it wasn’t your fault,
it wasn’t your fault,
it wasn’t your fault.  

The End

You were a comet through my starry sky,
flying slowly, ever moving, and growing, changing,
a brilliant light as you traveled ‘cross, 
you held my gaze, and I was spellbound.

I watched you as the night went on,
I stopped mid walk to stop and stare,
so lovely and arresting was your light
that for hours I was bound just standing there.

But the dawn came creeping, you were almost gone,
I noticed I had grown quite cold;
a chill wind blew into my arms and wrapped me-
I was alone, clutching at the air as if it could love me, warm me.
How wrong I was.

I looked back up at your skyward trail,
and sadly drew breath, blinking back tears,
the end of your light was coming, I felt it,
so I strove to remember the way you looked,
the way you shined,
the way you had captured me at night’s soft fall,
and kept me standing, ever watching.
I burned your tail into the back of my eyes.

But the wind was chill, and night at end,
and I noticed while I’d watched you fly
I’d missed the other stars all twinkling, softly,
each one winking in the sky,
and as the dawn’s warm glow crept over the hills, calling me home,
I smiled, remembering how you looked when I first beheld you,
and I decided to remember you as I first saw, 
small, pure,
bright,
and beautiful,
and walked on alone to meet the dawn.