London calls me a stranger


P.S. I Love You.
miércoles, 30 de marzo de 2011 14:15 | permalink | comment

Dear Holly,

I don’t have much time. I don’t mean literally, I mean, you’re out buying ice cream and you’ll be home soon…but I have a feeling this is the last letter. Because there’s only one thing left to tell you. It isn’t to go down memory lane or make you buy a lamp. You can take care of yourself without any help from me. It’s to tell you how much you move me. How you changed me. You made me a man by loving me, Holly…and for that I am eternally grateful. Literally. If you can promise me anything, promise me that whenever you’re sad…or unsure…or you lose complete faith…that you’ll try and see yourself through my eyes. Thank you for the honor of being my wife. I’m a man with no regrets. How lucky am I? You made my life, Holly, but I’m just one chapter in yours. There’ll be more. I promise. So here it comes, the big one. Don’t be afraid to fall in love again. Watch out for that signal when life as you know it ends.


P.S. I will always love you.

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Bianca, 17.
My thoughts are stars I can't fathom into constellations.


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