To Write Love On Her Arms.

I've always loved the intro on the website To Write Love On Her Arms. Its beautiful. It's broken. And it describes everything I've ever known. I've watched it a thousand times, and I'll watch it a thousand more. Tonight, the chords of my heart are plucked by its message. Not because I am Renee, but because tonight, I am Jamie. I am so uncertain. For once, I am not Renee. I'm not saying this, as I am dealing with someone who is suicidal, cutting or depressed. Instead, I am saying this, as I need to go deeper. I need to show the love, that five strangers showed one girl.

"For five days, she is ours to love. We will be her church."

I have more than five days, but I will still be her church. Broken down, she drinks long from the bottle and opens her heart. Her texts describe a girl that I know, who's haunted and trapped by her past. She doesn't know how to get out. But I do. I'll be her sheppard. "Take my hand", I tell her over and over again. Our journey is just beginning, our love is new and fresh. It will be tested. But we will make it. I am sure of this. Her texts scream insecurity, hate and anger. They turn for a moment, and it gives me the idea she can't do this anymore. She can't be in this place. I'm scared. We're so close, and it could be snatched away from me at any moment. Her words blame me, and I'm crushed. I feel responsible for her hurt, and her pain. I can't focus on that. I can't turn this into something about me. It's not what she needs. She needs support. She needs love. She needs me. I love this girl.

This is an odd feeling. I've never been needed. I've never been enough for anyone, yet alone everything. I hate to say it, but in the midst of all this, I believe her when she tells me she loves me. This is a first. Maybe by fixing her, we're fixing me as well. I'm excited. I love this girl.

Reading over Blue like Jazz, I stumble on a part that I never paid much attention to before. Don Miller talks about Love, and God. His words are thoughts on whether we choose love, or whether love chooses us. And I wonder why it can't be both. There's not doubt she chooses me. This love chooses me. But I choose it right back. I choose her. I choose her a thousand times over. I love this girl.

I hate that I love country music. The only thing I listen to now, other than country, is songs she has shown me. Owl city, death cab for cutie, and the spill canvas cover my youtube history. I choose the videos with the lyrics. Looking for the hidden lyrics that tell me she loves me. All of this reminds me of her. She is constantly on my mind. Thoughts of her race day in and day out. Memories, smiles and future plans get me through my day. I love this girl.

She thinks she's broken beyond repair. She's afraid. Afraid of failure, and that she'll mess this up. I won't let her. I need her, just the same she needs me. Others try to get in the way. Try to take her from me. I will fight. For her. In every way possible. I love this girl. Broken or not, I love her just the same. The conversation started with her hurting. Hurting about being broken. I was saddened to hear this. Because it is my fault. But at the same time, I can't help but be slightly excited. Because we can grow. Into the people we want to become. Together. We can intertwine and mold each other. We can become the people we've always wanted to become, and help each other become our Vodka Cranberry's. I love this girl.

I worry about her. I tell her daily to text me when she gets home, and she still doesn't. I worry. About her. Her safety. Her emotions. Her thoughts and feelings. Every minute that passes, thoughts fill my head. Bad thoughts. About her in danger, hurt, or even worse, leaving. The message that I have saved and look at most is "I won't give up on you Ian". This floors me everytime. Using my name, makes it sincere, and true. But also, because I've never heard this before. Everyone gives up. Gets mad, and gets even. I have told her I have never been enough for anyone, and that all I want is to be told that this thinking is wrong. That I am. This doesn't come. Niether does a message of respect. I have longed for the days that someone is proud of me. But I feel as if there is nothing to be proud of. I am a simple man. I don't stand out, and don't do great things. This text, I won't give up on you Ian gives me hope. That one day, one day these words that I have longed for, well leave her lips with truth and conviction. I so despretatly wish that those words will be spoken to my face. And I wait for that day. But for now, this will do quite well.  I love this girl.

She suffers nightmares. I don't know why. I want to know, and will not push, but ready if she ever decides to let me in, I will be waiting and ready. She tells me I keep them at bay on nights I whisper words of love into her ear as she sleeps. I think back to the nights she has suffered from them, and I hate that I fell asleep before my words of true love could be formed. Never again. I will whisper words of love, hope and dreams everyday to keep her demons at bay. I love this girl.

As the night grows on, my thoughts begin to blend. Twelve hour shifts, ruin my creative spirit as I've have thought about these words for hours. Picked apart, never being good enough to tell her. I just want to say I love you and have her believe me. I put the computer down, as owl city fades in speakers, listening to "Lonely Lullaby" the last lyrics repeat "I will never forget you." Fitting. Her facebook pictures, act as a slide show. I miss her. I love her. She is loved, and I hope she knows this. I will see her in less than 24 hours, but it still feels like an eternity. I need her. I miss her. I love her. I love this girl.

For the next five days, years, and the rest of our lives, she is mine to love. And I will be her church.