For this one girl...I thought you might like to know that my future is a bright one.
. . .
We used to joke about our future, as though it was something we could plan. You would become a fantasy writer and I would be your number one fan, but work as a nurse when I'm not out buying your newest books.
Isn't it funny how life works sometimes?
Because you're not scribbling down your ideas anymore and I don't want to help anyone get better when I couldn't do the same for you, and life just seems to be a massive cloud hanging over my head--and I don't want it anymore. I want to see the sky, like we did that night on our hill, and I want to explore infinity with you, and I know that I can't and it hurts.
For a while, I wanted to pursue your dream for you. A small part of me still does. But I guess that's all up to what God has planned out for me, right?
That's another thing. You didn't believe in God, but you listened to me when I told stories about Him and what He's done for me. That was one thing you were great at:
Listening.
It was part of our plans, remember? I would be a musician and you would be my biggest fan and you promised you would listen to every sound my untrained fingers produced. You said you would wear my band's t-shirt everywhere you went.
"For publicity," you tried to convince me. "Your name should be cheered across nations, screamed from the mountains--you should be heard."
Why didn't you tell me you needed to be heard too? I would have listened to every painful twinge of your voice, every shaking syllable, had you just told me so. Maybe then, I would have done something to help you. I would have held you for as long as it took for your open wounds to heal. I would have known.
I should have.
But I didn't, and now it's not us or we or you and I anymore, and I'm sick of saying me me me. Isn't that what got us into this mess to begin with?
I guess we didn't plan on a future without each other. Maybe that was where I went wrong.