"Mommy, do you remember that thing we always said when I was littler?"

"What do you mean, dear?"

"I think it was, I love you, but I'm not really sure anymore. What does it mean Mommy?'

"Honey," she hasn't stopped looking at me like that since. Those sad eyes that seem to say she failed me as a parent. It never stops, not even ten years later. I think she wanted to tell me, but at the same time she didn't understand herself anymore. Maybe she never did, I know I never did. Maybe that's how I've found myself in some of these situations. Searching for what I assume love is from the movies, or from the books, but how do I know which one is real? I've seen the movie fairytales where everything seems perfect. but I've also seen the book devastations where the girl is heartbroken and doesn't survive, the guys doesn't know what to do so he bails, and no one wins at all, not even fake happiness.

"Oh honey, it's when you fall helplessly for someone, so much that you can't live without them." Now that really screwed me, because after everything in my life, I know I won't ever find that. So lets hope that isn't what love is. "Love -an intense feeling of deep affection", wow you were so off, it's when you care for someone so greatly, that you can live for them.

"Why mommy, why would you lie to me?" I wish I could say that, but there's alot of things I want to say, but don't have enough time to say and explain. Why mommy, why would you lie to me, plant that tiny seed that happiness is real, when really its a fairytale from our storybook. The one that I begged you to buy, begged you to read to me, but I never heard a word of that book. "Why mommy, why would you lie?"

Dear Mom,

I don’t really know how start this, or end it. This is all kind of new to me, I mean obviously but like the whole actually talking about everything. You and I both know that I’m not all that good at sharing my thoughts when it comes to this stuff. Lately, I’ve kept everything bottled up and not talked much about how I feel about all that is happening, or even about anything going on recently, so that’s the purpose of this letter, to say things that I need to say.

I want to start with a thank you. Thank you for being an amazing mother, and for raising me and doing so well with trying to be apart of my life even through the distance. Not going to lie though, it has been hard not being able to come home from school to talk about all the juicy gossip with my mom, not being able to have a girls day, prom dress shopping with a mom. Everything that most girls get to do, I have had to wait over a month to do with you. We have gone anywhere from a week, to three months, to six months’ time without seeing each other, and that is hard, especially as a teenage girl. And after your diagnosis it hasn’t been any easier. Hearing how the other is doing through facebook posts, telling each other what all is going on a day or more after things happened, is probably one of the hardest things you or I have ever had to do. It was so much easier when we lived together, and when I had first moved in with Dad.

When you told me about your diagnosis I felt… wrecked, sad, angry, even sorry. I felt sorry that this was happening, sorry that I didn’t talk to you as much as I used to when I called you every night. More than anything, I think I felt sorry as your daughter, your babygirl, your last born. You have three kids total, my brother barely talks to you, unless he needs help, my sister moved across the country, and I’m just here one state away. Three hours, and fifty-one minutes, plus breaks away. I feel sorry about the fact that I’m bad at Mother’s Day, your birthday, and Christmas, I always get a gift or a card, but I don’t do enough to show you that I love you and I’m scared that one of these years I’m going to have to buy one less present for each event.

I’m scared that I’ve failed you as a daughter, as a kid I always saved all of my papers, assignments, tests, projects, drawings, and stuffed as many as I could into a box. We’d look through them all together, I’d show you the things that I was proud of, hoping you were as proud as I was. Lately, though, I feel as if I don’t anything that I’m proud of enough to make you proud, and that breaks me. Yes, I get really good grades, I’m sort of involved in extracurriculars, band, and all that, trying to do what you asked of me when I started high school. You wanted me to be confident, and put myself out there and be involved, and I am trying, but it is so hard. The one thing that is extremely hard for me right now is talking to people about this, you asked me to not keep everything bottled up. So when my sister texted me yesterday and told me how she’s feeling about all this and that she wants to come home sooner, but can’t afford it, I felt like it was so easy just to open up about it even if it was just a tiny bit.

Before anything gets any worse I want to tell you a few things, but I don’t know how I would say it to your face. So I’m going to out it all in this letter. I want to say I love you so much, and I know that my childhood was just as hard for you as it was for me. I know my sixth grade year was the hardest times, in our lives, for the whole family maybe even more so than now. Back then things were hard, with Shalyn’s accident, with my situations, with stressing about money. Everything was hard, but you handled it so well, even if you don’t think you did. The accident was a good reason for you to have to stick around for a while, which lead to you moving back and building your relationship with my sister back up. The whole family situation showed both of us how strong we can be, and it built a better bond between the two of us, leading to us to find out more about each other. And the money issues were solved eventually. That school year, from October to May, was so important for us as a family and it is so similar to now. We all have had things going on individually, and with you being sick, I think that has kind of pushed my sister and I closer to you. We’re all coming back together again, money is tight yes, but we always figure things out. You are the best mother I could have ever asked for, and I’m glad that I got you as a mother. Thank you for loving me, teaching me, and putting confidence in me. I can’t wait to spend as much time as I can, reminding you how lucky I am to have you, and how thankful I am.

Thank you mom, I love you forever and always.

It starts in the furthest part of my mind, and the very tips of my toes.

It spreads faster than any car, animal, or wildfire. There is no stopping it. I try to push it back, think "happy thoughts" if you will, but nothing works. If it isn't released, I will quite literally explode. Whether it be directed, or full on spewing at any moving target, it will escape any attempts to cage it.

It starts like normal, at an abnorally average pace, slowing down to a sudden stop, then all of a sudden it seems to sprint and not stop till it has completely let free. At that point you might as well sit and watch the beautiful catastrophe that is life be disrupted for most of the time little to no reason but one person whomever it may be, decided to release their's onto me.

You may be wondering, "Is this lust, saddness, love?" No this is nothing but anger, most often sparked by the love once held for someone. The only advice I can give you, run like hell and hope the target doesn't fall on you.

Sometimes I think I’ve lived too long. I think, “You know, some people just aren’t meant to have a long, happy life”. Walking around the school, or mall, I think I will never get that back. The happy look on every girl’s and guy’s face when they’re together. The feeling in my heart when they talk about that person. But then, something happens. It isn’t “I think”, it becomes “I know”. I must have gotten “lucky” or what others might consider lucky. Surely, this can’t be right. I've lived 15 years, 10 months, and 5 days, and all I've got to show for it is empty smiles and once happy memories. The whole reason behind my thinking of, maybe I've lived too long is, too many of my loved ones have died before they even got the chance to live. Everyday people who were destined for something, die. So surely, my life isn't destined for anything incredible, so why is it that I'm the one sitting here, typing these words when they were the ones meant to change to world. People say, "You just have to have hope, you have to work through the tough times so you can be rewarded with the good times", but I don't think that's how it works anymore. We sit and hope and pray, until one day we give up. We expect to get certain things out of life, that we know aren't coming, and we cry over it anyway.

So why is it that I even bother sitting here and writing this? Is it for me to believe someone actually cares? Is it to make myself believe that I deserve life? I don't know, and maybe I never will, and I think that might be alright. As long as I remember that maybe not. Sometimes I think that I have lived too long. But sometimes, I think that I have many more to go. Hopefully I can find my happiness, my love, and my answers. So, if I was sitting here with a flower, instead of a computer, plucking the petals, instead of the keys, maybe my cycle of maybe, maybe not's, can end on the maybe not for once.

I was going to work my way up to the question, but I just can't. I need to know the answer. Why? Why did you follow him that one day? You knew you shouldn't have gone with him by youself, so why did you? You followed absentmindedly, too distracted by the show to see his plans. You are smarter than that aren't you? Well I guess you are now. Well thanks to your mistake of following him to his care that you were told you could trust to take to the mother you were so longing to see, that trip not only led to the mom, but also a long, winding rode to your personal torture. Personally fitted to you, because that one small trip, led to him getting to know you in ways no one else ever has, after spending more time than you ever wanted, he learned more, too much. He used you, at night, during the day, even when the people you thought you could trust to save you were around. But they never saved you, looks like you'll have to take matters into your own hands again. Please don't make the same stupid choice again.

My number one wish? That’s easy or at least I think it should be. So why is it not?

The obvious answer should be to give me more time with my dying mother, right? So, why was the first thing that came to my mind, to meet that one person, the one that I thought will change my life. Make me see my own self worth as more than lower than the gum on the botton of the desk in the back of the classroom.

My one wish that I would ask for and promise my soul, voice, anything for, would one hundred percent be that person. I always thought it was him, but now I realize that he made me feel even worse than the gum. But I still keep running back to him hoping this time will be different and he’ll actually love me this time.

The second thing that came in to my mind only appeared a millisecond after the first. I want, no, need more time. More time to find my people. More time with my dying mother. More time to right my wrongs. To not make those stupid decisions, or say that stupid shit that one day will get me killed. And lastly, if anything else to rewrite my past to work better into my future, the future I want. I can’t ask for those other things because as much as I want more time, or a different past, those things play into who I am today and who I will be. If I could just find that one person, I could better myself to acheive the things I want for my future, if I could see that I’m not worthless and someone would give me a chance.

K. It's a simple letter. Most of the time when I use it, it is just as ok or when I just really don't care. But tonight I started using it as a replacement. A replacement for your name. It has come to the point where apparently it pains me to type or even think your name, so now you are just K. You were someone I really loved, I really cared about for once. You were someone that for once in my life, made me feel loved back and like you truly meant it. Someone that made me feel like less of a waste of space and air. I spent 8 months, constantly worrying. Not about if you were going behind me back, or not meaning what you were saying. I was constantly worried about you, your health, heart, for some reason I even bothered myself with worrying about your sister, even though she hated me enough to try unrelentlessly to ruin the best thing to happen to me in as long as I could remember, even though she had never met me. Every time you apoligized, I said "it's alright". What a stupid thing for me to do. It was never alright. You broke me down, made me believe that you could help me build myself back up, and broke me even worse again. I thought for some reason, you actually cared, and you probably did for the first two weeks until you realized that I was not worth your time. But I always cared, I always hoped that everything was alright and you were okay when you would go weeks at a time without talking to me, and then came back with a stupid excuse and apolagy. I cared, when you didn't, I believed, while you lied over and over again. What a stupid, niave thing of me to do. Lesson learned, don't trust you ever again, but even though I've had to learn it twenty plus times, I'll still probably promise you another chance, and come back like nothing happend. So I guess the real lesson I need to learn is, stop giving so many chances, and toughen up, K.