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Diary of a Dying Girl (Pt. 2)

Entry Two

There's not enough time.


"He proposed."

I thought you were joking when you sent that text. My body knew you were serious before my brain did because I started shaking. My palms were sweaty and if I tried to speak I would've stuttered. I'm glad you were nowhere near me. I'm lucky you couldn't see my reaction. You would've seen my panic before you spotted my joy.

I just think it happened too fast. I don't think you're ready yet. But then again who am I to tell you what you're ready for. Before he came back, you were so hellbent and intent on talking about so many different things. You were uneasy about the future and how he fits in. "What came next" and why he assumed that it was his decision to make—and his alone.

It's sad that you'll deny any and all issues because you were raised to sweep everything under the rug and pretend that reality wasn't staring you right in the face. You never even attempt to make decisions for yourself. The first word that comes to mind is "infuriating," but I have to remind myself that I can't be too heavily invested in the life you choose to lead.

There's so much you don't know. You met your soldier eight months after we buried the sunlight. We mourned him so heavily it felt like we were aging. Then the soldier waltzed in, and believe me, the smile got me too. I never said I had an issue with a kind-hearted country boy. I believe in everything that you hope for but I also believe that everything has its time. This isn't it.

Wait. The word I wished I screamed when you announced the timeline of your love story. Everything was so rushed and unsure but you let it sweep you away. And now I fear for the decisions you'll make here on out. I'm afraid that you won't make decisions at all.

Part of me wishes you met someone that forced it out of you—that need to actually reach for what you wanted instead of what worked at the time.

I'm not saying the boy will ruin your life. He won't. The most he'll do is remove you from mine. Is it bad that I'm ready for that? I kept putting a timer on when you'd leave and now we're down to a year or so.

What sucks is I'm not sure how much it's going to hurt for you to be a memory.

At the end of this, I'm happy for you. I'll be in the wedding, I'll cry tears of nothing but joy, but in the back of my mind, the base of my heart, there will always be a dull ache of worry.

But maybe that's just me, being so hellbent on doing everything right that I’ll run from almost anything.

Being a dying girl just means that I panic about the future because I don't know how much of it is promised to me. So I can't waste it on a first kiss that didn't mean anything or a side glance from a boy that will do nothing but waste my time. And I sure as hell can't say "yes" to a boy that only ensures pieces of forever and fragments of the best of everything.

You’re always okay with doing whatever someone tells you, whether it’s good for you or not. And I’m not sure how much longer I can go on believing that it’ll all work out fine. This is forever we’re talking about. You can’t just promise a lifetime on a whim, a possibility, a “maybe.” And I wish I could trust your judgment but you never had any to begin with.

It’s your life. This I understand and that I respect, but that doesn’t mean that I won’t spend a million and one days worried about you. When/If you’re gone a year or so from now, I’ll always wonder if our Creator had something better for you. If He planned for you to live a different life.

Despite everything, I want the world for you. And even though I’m not positive that your country boy is it, I have to accept that this is as much of the world that you’re willing to take. Despite the fact that there’s so much more, this is all you want.

I'll walk down that aisle because you asked me to. But just know that while you stand there reading your vows I'll be second-guessing every word you say.

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Diary of a Dying Girl (Pt. 2)
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