' 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡 𝗕𝗨𝗧 𝗔 𝗦𝗪𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗚 ' › D. SWING

I'm Still Waiting.

( a collaboration between jcdeci + makeboyscry )

' THE LETTER '

Dear Donald,

I've been thinking about this for a while now and I feel like it's best if I just tell you instead of holding it in. It's not exactly the easiest thing for me to do and I hope understand that I'm only doing this because I love you. Please don't hate me. . .

You are like a beam of light, gracing everyone with your presence and bringing joy along with you. It's hard not to love you or desire to be near you. I know you have dreams and goals, and I also know you have many women who are looking to be a part of your life. Yet, here I am, selfish and holding you back from an opportunity to find true love. It isn't fair and that is why we must end this. Believe me, I would love to be your wife one day but we both know that's just unrealistic. I'm in Iraq and you're in New York. That's more than a long distance relationship and you deserve to find happiness. For someone to hold you and protect you. For someone to love you unconditionally and be your eyes and ears when you're too caught up to pay attention—and we both know you get sidetracked easily. You deserve more than I can offer. It pains me more than you think to write this letter to you, being that I'm losing someone who I see as my first and only love. But I love you far too much to keep you from exploring life as you should, with or without me. If you get this, just know that this is the last letter you'll receive from me. I love you more than life itself. Be safe and continue to pursue your dreams. I'm so proud of you, stinker.

Love always,
[Y/N]

' CURRENTLY '

56. That's how many times he had read the letter. Each time was just as hard to get through as the first. He felt like reading it more than once would make a pill such as heartbreak easier to swallow, but here he was-- 55 rereads later and making absolutely no progress. 55 re-reads and he still had yet to break his record of 173 from the second to last letter he received from her.

The time-gaps between getting one letter from her and waiting for the next had grown wider than the Atlantic Ocean, which left plenty of time for him to read. . . and read again. . . and again. . . and again.

This didn't keep him from writing his weekly letters to [Y/N] though. He knew she wanted the best for him. He knew that she wanted him to live his life, but he found it impossible when she was such a key part in what it meant to live his life. Yet, he had to find a way. She was rooting for him, and he couldn't let her down. She believed in all of his musical talents and dreamed of him sitting amongst stars almost as often as he did. So, he spent a lot of time perfecting his craft and getting a demo together for himself, his brother Dalvin, and two other boys that he met not too long ago. Together, they were Jodeci, and the music was magic. The music was something he knew [Y/N] would love, and when he wasn't sucked into a world of piano chords and harmonies, he was writing to, writing for, and writing about [Y/N].

He'd even cut out time to call her parents since he wasn't able to physically visit most of the time.

Every Sunday afternoon, Donald would make a phone call to [Y/N]'s parents' home. He'd check in with them and see if they were doing all right because after all, [Y/N]'s family might as well have been his own blood, but he mainly wanted to know how [Y/N] was holding up overseas. They'd give him the same phrases every week: She's fine. She misses everyone. She'll be home soon.