Emma…
My pen scribbles lazy circles all over the pages of my journal as I lay on my bed. The memory of Chance’s voice echoes, I want you to be real with yourself.
Do I love Rick? Is there any love for him in the depths of my heart...? I turn the page letting my subconscious paint me a picture…
Why do I not understand?
Is this all part of your plan?
I wish I was told
The secrets of the heart;
Wishing I could guard,
The thoughts in my head.
Praying I will forget
The feelings that you took.
When you read my book,
Stealing like a crook;
Can I love this master of deception?
Does he deserve redemption…
Maybe if Rick wouldn’t have read my poem about desire, I wouldn’t have been vulnerable and let myself get close to him.
You broke your promise to yourself—to forever hate him…
