My words glided out on a soft wind, levitating between us. Then I didn’t think I caved into him. Trey hauled me completely on top of him, tangled me into him and his sheets. Feeling his skin, I could tell his fever had broken. But my fiery nerves were blazing, burning, thrumming.
I was his. Just for tonight. Pretend.
We were pretending.Pretending.
We didn’t leave the room, the bed. We didn’t eat. I curled up on him, held to him like I could absorb him into my soul. Trey sprawled out on me, playing with my curls.
I was his, and he was mine.
Pretend. Pretend. Pretend.
That silence, our silence. That peaceful, encompassing silence was with us through the hours. It was with us in the pillows, the bedding, dancing across our skin.
I was his, and he was mine.
And when tomorrow came and I left, I couldn’t stop pretending.
Dear Future Husband,
Whenever my feelings are at a bit of a low, I turn to you my book of empty pages. When life is good, I feel good, independent, and solid. But when I’m low, I am embarrassed, stressed. And the only one who won’t necessarily judge me or has the energy to listen and understand me is you, this book…
That’s sad, right? Totally and completely pitiful.
Times like these, I feel so alone, and I feel like all I have is this book. A book of only my own thoughts and feelings to accompany me in my grief and I can’t help but scoff at how pathetic that is.
I am so alone that all I have in the world is an empty book.
All I do is cry.
All I do is mourn my life.
All I do is wish I had more than blank pages bound by leather to hold me as I weep on the floor of my bedroom. Utterly and completely alone.
Can you hold me?
When you find me, when you have me, can you hold me and never let go? When you—my book of listening pages, are made real—can you tuck me in your arms and keep me safe from this crippling loneliness? This solitude I am slowly growing more and more accustomed to.
Can you hide me away from this scary world and pretend with me that it is just you and me? Pretend with me that nothing else exists. That you and I were made to hold one another, be with one another, safe and together.
I long for the days that I have you. I long for the days that it won’t just be my writing I have, but your thoughts and words. I long for the day I won’t crave the smear of ink on my fingers but the feel of your skin against mine.
I yearn for the days that I won’t just cherish the silent, freeingmoments between me and ready paper. But the quiet moments we share between sweet kisses.
I am eager for the days I am not smiling at my own thoughts relayed on these pages, but hearing you laugh or seeing you smile.
One day. One day you won’t just be a book, but you will be mine and I won’t have to pretend that I’m not alone because one day I won’t be.
Love,
Maybelle Mason
34 Team Turner
Maybelle
Chelsea, Penny, and I prowled through rows upon rows of dress racks, pawing at the glittering gowns. I hadn’t realized how extravagant this whole football banquet ordeal was until I finally remembered to tell Penny I was attending as Sam’s date.
Without a response, Penny had scrambled to my closet, searching for what, I had no clue.
