Dear You,
I love you. It’s one thirty in the morning, and I’m thinking about you. I really don’t know why, most often I find myself stressing out about how I can help you, but trying to convince myself that I can’t stand you. Even now the pain and burden I feel for you is as strong as ever and I love you more than words can say. We’re the same person, you and I. We’ve lived the same life and saw the same problems all around us. We’ve been given the same opportunities to screw up, laugh, and dream of love. We've saw more heartache and been given more opportunities to implode than anyone before us. You’re the best friend that I can’t stand, the one that breaks my heart every time you reject my words of advice, yet when your heart is broken afterwards I’ll hold you without a moment’s hesitation. I’ve said behind your back that you drive me crazy and I can’t stand you, but in my heart I know I could love you no more and in no other way than to keep bugging you and asking you if you want to come back home. We hang out whenever we can and when I go home I tell Dad all about you, He cries and says He loves you too, He’s sad that you left; He wants to be your Dad again. I know you go home to that place you fixed up so well, trying to let everyone know you’re gonna make it just fine. The paint does look good and the lawn is gorgeous, but I know it’s about to fall down inside if one more storm comes through. That sand you picked for your foundation really didn’t cut it, did it? That salesman at the life building store, Lucky, wasn’t it? Yeah, he lied to you. He lied to you and you believed him, I was there. When did he move in? I’m sorry he lied to you, it doesn’t have to be this way. We both know it.
I know you go home and lay in a bed of iron, though you’ve covered it with soft things and Lucky told you it looked great. Did you put the mirror I gave you for your birthday up yet? I didn’t think so… I wish you would. It was meant to show you what I see underneath your designer clothes and enhanced skin. You carry something so much more valuable than I can say, Dad says you’ll be beautiful when you let Him take care of you. I know you don’t believe me; you say I don’t have any fun and that I’m always locked in a box. You say you’re free and that Lucky is taking care of everything. I hear you’re going to never cry again and really make something of yourself. I hear many things, but we’ve talked too many times for you to bluff me. I know the truth.You know we lived the same life until a little while ago. You remember when we ran away together and decided we’d see the world? You remember when Dad let us? When He said He’d always be there and He’d always love us? He wasn’t lying. It broke His heart but we didn’t care- we were free. Did you know that He sent Joshua out to find us… He found me not long ago, that’s why I didn’t come back that night. I’ve been home a little while now. It’s why I won’t come be coming back. Lucky had some men kill Joshua, they killed Him for trying to find us. I think that’s what he always wanted, but I know you won’t believe me until you talk to Him. He’s lying to you- I know you don’t believe me.
Why won’t you come back?
I love you. I cry for you often, but you know I can’t come back to you- when we left, I thought it was for good too, but I couldn’t stand to lose any more blood. You saw what they did to us- why did we let them? I was tired of living in a shell. I was tired of feeling like I had to prove something. I can’t do that anymore. You must understand, it doesn’t have to be this way. Lucky doesn’t love you. Not like Dad and Joshua do. I know he buys you nice things now… but I’ve also seen the bruises. Does he give you a blanket to cuddle in after he beats you? Does he give you a cup of water and then hold you, trying to help you forget that he’s the one who did this? Do you know what Dad would do to him if you’d let Him? Why do you keep protecting him as if he's your husband or something? I don’t understand… why don’t you come home? I miss you. I love you- more than words can say. Dad loves you too, but it’ll always be your call- that’s the way He made things. Please come home.
Love,
Me
No comments:
Post a Comment