Emma Louise Creative Writing

I have writen this and rewritten this so many times. My words wont cooperate. My mind is kinda blurry. I'm going to just go ahead and wing it this time. I'm going to write until my heart bleeds out how I feel, and until I deem it justified. Where to begin? God, this is harder than I thought. Lets begin with what you are. You are the green skies that I love so much, after a storm when the trees have fallen, and the lights are out. You are the you are the creaking of an old house in the early morning. You are the silver dew and fog upon golf courses and fields that are hauntingly empty.You're the moon at dusk, full of life, vibrant, with a tint just barely shaddowing over its features. You're the muffled music coming from your pockets on

My ultimate fear is that someday, I will die, and because I could not come up with the perfect combinations of curls upon my tongue, and breath from my own lungs, that you may sit in wonder, for even the slightest of moments, and question my love for all that you are, Emma Louise. No matter how many letters I write, or poems I produce, I genuinely fear that it may not be enough, because the words werent strong enough. With this, I hope you can accept something else. That is more of those midnight kisses, and loud games of Spit. More arguments of the dealer, and whispered "I love you."s, with bedtime memories. The only thing I fear second to that, is dying with terror still wrapping my bones, and creeping into my mind. Please, don't let me die in

To marry you. To never leave. To be there, no matter what. No matter how forcefully we are shoved apart, I will be here. I will be there to shelter, and comfort, and cuddle, and cry with, at all times, and especially when it is needed the most. I will be there, to love you and confirm within your heart, your mind, and your soul, that you are loved. With all of by existence, as long as my heart pumps, and as long as my lungs breathe, you are my person. My Bonnie, my Moom, my Snuh, my Augustus, my Meredith. My Emma. And I dont want to wake up next to anyone but you. I dont want anything except to peek at the early morning with your Albert-Einstein-Lookin-Ass hissing at the sunlight pouring through the blinds. I want your hands tracing me, and mine tracing yours, as if they were the brushes of the most beautiful paintings, never shown to another being. Just for the two of us to adore and wonder, and love, together. I want to sit on our creaking rocking chairs, with an old dog between us, telling our amazing story with some little twerps who like to pull on my future fake knee. I'm not letting you go. I made that mistake a year ago. I watched you crumble as I left, and it was by far the most horrifying, and saddening things I have ever witnesed. I am not seeing you crash and burn and turn to dust at my hands, or anyones hands for that matter. You will not crash and burn ever again, and I am making sure of