Dear Peter

Dear Peter,

I promise I’ll stop dreaming of you at night. I will stop building our home in the skies. I will stop haunting you in my dreams.  I’ll stop bringing your name up over cups of coffee, movie dates and loneliness. I will meet a man and i will marry him. I will give him all of  my me.  I will love him with all my might and i will have his daughter. Her eyes will remind me that God still believes in second chances. And if she ever decided to fall in- love, i will love bravery down her spine. I will be reminded of all the times that we loved, like loving was going out of fashion.

If she ever comes home with heavy eyelids and a heart filled with question marks, I will hold her like my mother never held me. I will clasp her face in my palms like my life depended on it. I’ll tell her that love is the passion that allows you to do the right thing, and that no woman can play coaster to a half empty heart. And if she ever feels as if she is alone, as if she is a hand-me-down pulled out of the depths of mummy’s closet, I’ll remember your name and I’ll mumble it under my breath. And if she asks me what I said; I’ll tell her that I know what it’s like to drag a woman out of a cold war and then being too worn to clean up the battlefield that it has made of you. I’ll tell her that your heartbeat sounded like coins tripping over battered cement. I’ll tell her that i know what it’s like just to want someone to remember you. That some men come into your life to break you down. That sometimes, an apology hurts more than the initial wound. I will teach her to forgive herself before she ever attempts to forgive the other person. I’ll tell her to never regret loving a man, and that scars only give you stretch marks and something to gossip about. I will tell her that hearts and stop signs are similar in that they are both lost in open roads and hollow chests.

If my daughter ever looks in the mirror  and sees an unfamiliar face and she’s too embarrassed or too proud to run into mummy’s arms I’ll pray. I will pray that she has friends with hearts filled with compassion,  friends who are not too cool to pray with her, who will tell her to stop looking for the light at the end of the tunnel and find God in the darkness. If my daughter ever walks in my house like shattering glass, I’ll tell her about you. I’ll tell her that we loved- Hard and true and that we cried together, and we prayed together, and we smiled together like our smiles were the only ones that mattered in this world. And that we hurt like only people in-love ever could.

Dear Peter, I hope my daughter never knows what a goodbye kiss tastes like. I hope she never knows what “I’ll see you later” really means. I hope she never re-runs every single word of a last conversation, because My Peter, a broken heart feels like poisoned butterflies taking their last flutters in the pit of your stomach.

Dear Peter, I hope my daughter never bears her soul on her blog for all to read. For her one true love to read. Knowing the eyes he will use to read her blog, will be the one set of eyes that will never love her again.




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