deep think. simple say.

"He's honored to be called to serve as a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints and because I stand behind my Elder with the same force that he's always stood behind me, because at this time working in the field is better than working on courting, because RM will always be stronger than BF, because his call is more important than me calling him, because missionary work starts now, because this quest isn't done for a full two years; so our quest may begin and never end, because they need him more than I do, because for now he'll only leave me to ensure that others will be together for eternity, because when my missionary returns...the honor will surely be mine."

The worst type of crying is the silent one. The one when everyone is asleep. No one hears, so no one cares. The one you try to fight, blinking as fast as you can. The one that once that first silent tear slides out of your eye, thousands follow. Broken dam. The one where you face your despair alone, under your sheets. The one that drenches your pillow. The one where you feel it in your throat, and your eyes become blurry from the tears. The one where you just want to scream. The one where you have to hold your breath and grab your stomach to keep quiet. The one where you can't breath anymore. Your heart is heavy and a thousand pounds crush it. The kind with a knot...a double knot blocks your windpipe. It's the one where the sob wont go away. You lie there choking on sorrow. Your quivering lips are the only thing stopping that painful cry from escaping your throat. The one that no one knows about when you see them the next day. The one that's hidden. The one that comes from

I like my mountains high, half green and tips white. I like my meadows green, but water logged. I like the sun as my alarm clock and a moon as my curfew.  I like my hair nest and face dirty. I like my perfect blue jeans, and boots with mud.  I like my summer's sun, and evenings crisp. The days white cloudy, and nights  bright starry. I like my men country, and my daddy's rifle.   I like streams and the trickles, frogs jump as a ride. I like my fishing hole, with Brook and Rainbow; just right.  I like my tree stand, walls of mounts and pride. I like the cut grass smell, the ticking of sprinklers turn. I like the quake of aspen, a distant song of a meadowlark.  I like the simple and the easy and the beauty and the peace. I like my place to myself, keep it secretly safe. I like my home and my heart, my rhythm and sway.  Home's not where the your heart beats, but where beats sync with kin.  This is my place, my castle, Montana's always

there's our photo together. it's gathering dust on my dresser. face down. i picked it up a few days ago and i blew off the dried tears and dust. i stared and just..... i blinked.  it's been 6 months. who are you now? i let myself look at you, me... us. smiling, like this was going to be easy; before my life went grey. and honestly I didn't know how to make it right again. and maybe still don't.  maybe i will in 6 more months. one year. because you just disappeared. for quite a while actually. so what if I'm not the same when you're home and what if those smiles don't come back and what if you walk down that hall and you've forgotten? i'll be a different girl and you'll be.... a man.  what if when we pick up our pieces, they don't quite fit together anymore? then we'll wonder if they even fit in the first place. so i'm shoving all the pieces behind a wall. a wall around my heart and ill put it high on

she's in the class A team stays in men's day dreams a walking summer, she smells like rain but she's never deserved this much pain she needs more than the past 6 years shedding too many of those same old tears she was just on the lower hand she couldn't believe this was really her man whisked away by the short stick roses at first but turned to prick he made it too cold for his angel to fly  no longer will he make her hurt or cry  seems the  worst things in life come free to us never again, no settling for less so now she's banking on the upper hand but not exactly how she planned these two years are a harder glance  of a life she's waiting on and hopes to dance in a white dress holding his hand cuz finally, she's found a better man

My brother is in love. Or so he says. It scares me... Marriage? What is that? Just last year we were crashing high school parties together and dating each other's friends. We were best friends... or are we still? She takes attention. MY attention. I thought I would hate her, it was pre-decided. (based on what his previous girlfriends were like) but... but..... no I don't like her. Or maybe I like her, but not how my brother is shaping a new life and forgetting me? But maybe I hate her, but like how my brother is the happiest he's ever been? What if he forgets about me? His baby sister? This time it actually might work out. I'm scared. I'm scared for him, I'm scared for me, I'm scared of how my parents would react, I'm scared of inviting HER family into MY family. They're mine. I'm selfish... who isn't? But...... I think I like her. She's more than his other half. She's his other two thirds.... She was a part of o

What hurts the most about reading love letters, is when they aren’t about that fairytale ending, for that boy. Seeing and feeling the passion behind those words, seeing The Girl with someone else. But having a history, a story with her.  Once upon a time, she needed him, not the other him. And He was the only him she wanted. Knowing that he loved her for her. He knows her. She knows him.  It was having to come to the realization that that flame which has burned for her for so long, for a while now, is dead and gone. She’s that rose he went to touch, but only grabbed a thorn. For far too long now, boy and girl walked a perilous line of “love” and “in love.”  And he finds himself somewhat relieved to be out of such a nerve-wracking, heart-wrenching terrible place. Pain. Pain means suffering. Then why does it seem so comforting?  And do you know the sickest part? What makes a place like that so terrible is something that is ordinarily really a beautif

I feel him next to me at night, hear his steady breath. I'm tucked in. I have sleepy eyes. he’s singing our songs. he turns to me and kisses my forehead. my last sense of touch before reality overtakes me again. I'm desperate for his voice, touch, that look. he's gone his way and I need to go mine, just until then. goodbyes are hard but not when it's only when the sun touches the sea. this time it’s not. Ill muster every ounce of confidence I have and for him... I will. until the sun rises 730 times... then he'll be back to me. Ill canon ball into the dark water, camouflage for my already wet lashes. give me a little time... like 730 days. all of my tears will air dry... with just that "little" time. Ill wander these streets, nothing tasting as sweet as what I won't have. every day consists of red flags and mailboxes. Ill cling to the words he scribbled 3 weeks ago. I say I miss him... Because I do, I&

Im Thinking of you like dice is thinking about rolling and monsters think about trolling....  I think of you like math thinks of counting, and hunters think of mounting and shouters think of... Shouting.  I think of you like birds think about bees, like legs think about knees, like my dad... Thinks about knees ;)  I'm thinking of you like you think about the ball and missionaries think of their call, like our relationship, we give it our all... I'm thinking of you like you're my one true love and it's an indescribable gift from this wonderful man above.  and I think about us like you think about us. And like we think about us....  I'm just...thinking of us:)