Post by amber on Dec 10, 2010 17:00:13 GMT -5
amber mason crowne.
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[/CENTER]SIXTEEN. JUNIOR. ENGLAND. EMMA WATSON. ADMIN EDIT.
look at my life, look at my face, can't you see my heart bleeding down my sleeve?
Dear Mum,
It's May Seventeenth. It's been exactly two years since you left us. I remember looking at the clock at the second the door closed - you know how I have "OCD" about things like that. How I always have to know the exact moment important things happen or at least remember the way they happened, how things have to be done in an order, how everything needs to be straight and just seem right. Well, naturally, not only did I realize that it was exactly 4:28 in the evening, but that it didn't seem right. How can that be? Answer me this: is it possible to make something right, but even 365 days later it all seems so wrong.
You were wrong Mum, even if you don't want to admit it. You were so wrong, in fact, that I'm absolutely positive you thought it was right. Well, of course you thought so or else you wouldn't have done it. You always claimed to have good judgement and up until that moment I believed you. I don't believe you anymore, I can't and I won't. Don't try writing, I won't right back. There's nothing in my life I want you to know about. I don't want you in my life here anymore, not now, not ever. You left me and Dad alone so you could run away to Rome with that man two blocks down. What was his name again? I should know this, he came to that barbeque last summer for your birthday. I was wondering why you came in so late and why Dad wasn't worried. I guess I should've seen it coming. Should've known that after all this time you were going to run off with another man. You never loved dad, at least not the way you said.
Dad was the one who first put the camera in my hand. Remember when you two were going to Uncle Patrick's wedding? I was eight years old, Ms. Coughlen from next door was going to come babysit me, but you insisted that I take the photos. You were proud of me then, and of Dad. You two looked so happy when I was clicking away. You gave me a kiss goodnight since I would be asleep when you came home, and Dad gave me a hug. You left arm in arm and I could've sworn he was the happiest right then. You took his happiness away, though we've gotten much closer. I can make him smile, but I rarely see him smile with others. I worry about him while I'm here at school. You're off in Rome, actually, I'll bet you're galavanting off to another country; I'm in my sophomore year at academy; Father's all alone. You left him all alone.
Now maybe you'll get this or maybe it'll just sit in one of the many boxes under my bed. It might find comfort their - I've tried to write to you and with each letter, I tuck them away in a box, and hope that they never resurface because I don't want you to know all of this. I don't want anyone to know all of this. Dad knows though. He knows I write letters to noone and letters to everyone and letters to Ms. Coughlen's cat, and poor Ms. Coughlen herself who died a few months ago, and that little boy I saw talking to his imaginary friend about whether or not to give his little sister a note to buy a chocolate bar. I write to heaven and I write to hell. Letters are the only things I can write, but you didn't know this. You didn't know any of this because for three years you didn't care and, unless there's some twisted piece of fate, you won't know this.
No, I'm not crazy. I promise you this. Your leaving did not turn me into a girl wandering lost in the dark who's only escape is to write letters that will never be sent. You changed me into something better. Sure, I'm not the most open about you, but I learned to value what I have when I have it. I switch moods quickly, like any sixteen year old girl, and sure my temper can get nasty, but I smile more than ever and I laugh and I cry and I skip class every now and then because there's a game of truth or dare down by the river. But I'm not a rebel. I speak my mind, sure, but I love it all. I don't have any penned up anger. I just get angry.
I guess it all comes down to anger. Is that why you left, Mum? Is it?
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ALICE. SEVENTEEN. EST. FOUR YEARS. ADMIN ACCOUNT.
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