It was like a gunshot.

It scrambled out into the dark like a crazy horse and rambled its way into the sewers and “lol”ed itself into a nightmare it didn’t believe and then


There is no one to blame. Thanks, God. My gratitude is as limitless as my soul, and as limitless as all the things I am too afraid to have faith in, until right this moment, at the period of this stupid sentence.

I love him. It’s okay.

Marriage is still a looming question mark, but someday God will help me cross that burning bridge when I/”we”/me and whomever else come to it.

I can’t guarantee anything. Nothing is new about that. I can’t be different. I can’t slow down. I love being fast. It’s one of the best parts about my ageless soul, and my demented sense of humor, and the dark breaking into a sunset.

I love him. And that won’t change. I said that in the first of the entries I saved for him, the ones from September. It hurt too much to save without an outlet, so I wrote it down. I had no idea. But NOBODY HAS ANY DAMN CLUE, MKAY? I’m over letting anything being excused out of ignorance. I have no fucking clue. And it’s so nice.

There are a lot of different shards of crazy embedded in the side of my head that still shimmer. There are countless ways to shake them out, a little salt and pepper here and there to coat my seasonal disasters in something a little less “consistent”ly consistent than the day before.

BUT I AM CONSISTENT. I am me; that hasn’t changed since I was before I was born. Whatever he decides or has decided; love isn’t mine. It’s a sacred gift, even when I’m mad. It’s enough even when I’m alone. It’s beyond what I understand when I’m seeing clearly, and at the end of the day, I still love him.

I wish he’d say something. That part is real. But I need to say this first: there was never any problem. There were shitty moments that scared the shit out of me, but loving him was always easy, and I could never get rid of it, and I am so okay with that. I can do things alone now! I can sing. I can dance and sing in the shower, in the car, walking to class, sitting alone. I can cry in public! I can sit still! I can write about all of the things that are true and for the first time, believe them. I don’t have to save them anymore for a day when they will matter, because they always mattered, and love was always worth it.

It may not have a “happy ending”, but thank God my life isn’t over! Thank God I don’t have to guess! Thank God that I survived to see it all worth it! All of it. The crown of thorns I made myself, the smashed blocks of ice that would’ve melted anyways, the cruel whispers and the hidden truths. NONE OF IT MATTERED. I am thankful for so much, but this Thanksgiving, I am thankful to be alive!

I am free now, and it only came in loving him. There was no good reason. There was no reason at all. There was nothing but how much I loved him, and for whatever reason, it hasn’t left. He is such a beautiful person, you guys. He is kind. He is patient. I am not either of those naturally. But he smiles and I forget that.

I made the damn list of marriage things I wanted to do. I made it because I wanted to do them with him someday, and no other freaking reason. I made it because my mind runs 1000 miles an hour, and it is enough to sit still now. I made it because even though I’ve hung out with him for two days and 15 hours, and have no right to plan anything, I would literally think like a crazy person and elope tomorrow if he asked me. You think I’m crazy? Good, me too. I like it though.

I keep writing stupid melancholy shit I don’t mean here and there, but really, it’s okay. I am hurt periodically. That is just how I am. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. But the hurt doesn’t last. The love does. That’s why it matters.

I can turn the hurt off almost immediately now. That isn’t a coincidence. It is enough to just be thinking about him, and it vanishes. I can express who I am because honestly, if I could express all of it right now to give it to him like some flowers, I would in a heartbeat. I love him. And screw everything else. Screw doubt soup. Screw freaking out and thinking about tomorrow when it’s still today. Screw panic. Screw just about everything that can’t be nailed down and stared at. I’m moving too quickly, and that is FREAKING RECENT. This all started about August 25th, which is when I met him, and although I’m too young and clueless to know what that even means, it’s the truth.

At this point, I’m done being a malevolent Diva. “This point” could be forever or for the next five minutes. But really, I just want to be his. That isn’t stupid, that’s true. The part of me that can sweettalk a brick can go to hell; I am not the Black Widow. I am a Benevolent Diva, but more than anything I use to explain, I am Haley. And finally, it’s enough (for me, at least).

Ashes to ashes and dust to dust is a weird death sentence, but think about it in the context of a Phoenix. They resurrect, they heal, they shed the past, they flit away and forward and towards and underneath constantly. They are kind. They are fire. And they are rare but beautiful.

Love is a lot like that. I used to be most afraid of being trapped. I always used to think of it as a cage. Trapped in just one dream. Trapped in silence. Trapped in stillness. Trapped in general.

But God, how I would love to be trapped when I think about having him to be trapped with. I wouldn’t even notice. It would be years before I cared. I could die a cute little captive bird, and hopefully he’d die right after me. But trapped was never outside of me. Trapped was the fear that never left. Oh God, thank you for taking it away.

Papa, please look after him while he is patiently doing his thing away over there. Please calm me down so I don’t freak out. The freaking out isn’t my fault, but I can control it if I ask for your help. Your goodness is the same stupid goodness that I see when he smiles. It is enough.

And please, find some way to tell him all of this. I can’t. At least, I feel like he doesn’t want to hear it yet. I still have September entries to share; this seems like way more than I have the right to fork over and fling. But I love him. And please tell him somehow.

Anyways Papa, it’s been a crazy year since last Thanksgiving in the kitchen in the Schol Halls. Please watch over all my friends and family there, and all of the people that are alone this Thanksgiving. I love you, and I’m grateful to be alive. Thank you.

With all the love,



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I am a second-grade teacher and pastor-to-be who loves people. I spend my weekends with friends or wandering the museums of DC alone and with a journal, trying to put words on the places of the soul that still feel wordless. I spent most of my days at school trying to learn patience through my students and running on sheer nerdy passion. I follow Jesus Christ, and savor that as my most important identity--that I am a child of God, as are infinite others, regardless of their other identities. Christ is my one thing.

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