His names Caleb.
Oh my GOD. His name is Caleb.
The kindest soul.
When he talks to me, he listens mostly.
Smiles, and looks into my eyes.
I feel him inside me.
And its only just a stare.
We've been officially seeing each other for two weeks. So yes, I'm in the puppy love stage. But that does not take away from his beauty.
Its been years since I've written anything down. Nothing has inspired me to chronical my time in journals lately.
But now I have memories that I don’t want to forget.
This is a personal letter. Only meant for me.
Don’t fuck this up Willow. He's too good.
Don't let the depression win.
Tomorrows he's taking me to our spot. Vista Point. The highest peak in our valley. The second best view. The first best view has to go to that random pub that doesn’t card.
But only because of the atmosphere. Everyone there seems to just be a little freer than usual.
He's taking me to unwind and relax. He can probably tell that I'm stressed about terms. I don't understand how he can be so relaxed. These exams will be like fresh roads.
Building themselves around us. Showing us a potential path to our future. We cant expect to have good choices, if we wing the tests.
I want to work in a great field of our army, plus I don’t want to be a child making machine in our homeland.
And I don’t want to fight in the field. The field where woman like me, go to this war as something, and then come back damaged. Every woman that fights in the line of fire, dies.
Even those that come back.
Most traumatized by the bodies.
Some traumatized by the abuse of the people.
Some traumatized by the abuse of the generals.
Both allies and axes.
But almost all traumatized, by alcohol, drugs, and all types of abuse the woman get from their so called family.
Every woman that fights in the line of fire, dies. Even those that come back.
Those aren't even my words. Mila Caesar said that. I don’t need to go on a history lesson about her.
I need to get a good position in our intelligence division.
or in our security department.
or in our support corporations like the global banks and global aid companies.
These positions are only filled with top qualified people.
I cant fuck up my exams.
I'd rather go into the wild than die in our war. And if it leads up to that, I will choose to get lost.
It's so depressing that my goal in life, which was nowhere near the fairytale dream I had when I was little of being a princess accountant.
That goal is competing between dying in a war or bearing children and losing hope in and on our homeland, as my only options of my future. I have three potential outcomes.
I have very little control. My futures depressess me.
But I have to take all the control I can. And will my future to me. I don’t understand why most kids don’t see this.
They're just wasting these opportunities that they get. These opportunities to advance some part of their universe.
I wont waste these.
See. Why did I even begin to write.
I've officially talked myself out of my crush over Caleb.
Either its my depression, or its my clarity. But now I feel like I have to break it off with him.
I need to focus on myself right now.
Love has no room in my schedule.
I'll do it at Vista Point.