This has taken longer than expected. My first attempts were rounded out by Carter but I asked him not to send those. I hope you understand. I wanted you back to myself for a while. I wanted something to feel normal, so as painful as it is to write for any length of time, I persisted.
I appreciate everything you did for him. Every reassuring word, every time you pleaded with him to stay safe and within bounds. That was a hero speaking, and when I couldn’t be there for my son, I’m glad that you were. I’m sorry he worked you out. He always has been the best and the brightest. Like mother, like son.
I have so much to tell you. I think at one point I was telling you in my dreams. It seems silly to write it all down now, when the drugs are working and the wounds are slowly closing. I don’t suppose that miracle healing of yours is transferable? I’d certainly like to find out if that bulletproof quality of yours can be borrowed for public events.
I’ve never been hated like this before. I’ve been mocked and ridiculed and bitched about, but I’ve never done anything people thought I deserved to die for. Not even frosted highlights in ‘01.
They’re finally letting me go home tomorrow, even if it is with a hospital bed and armed guards. I know you’ll see that as an invitation, but there’ll be no slipping in through the balcony for a while. I can’t even get lipstick on at the moment, so absolutely no visitors.
If you want to keep an extra eye on Carter I’d be happy with that, though I understand if events in National City are keeping you busy. God knows I can’t expect you to be there for me every time I click my fingers.
The nurse is threatening to put all my stationery in medical waste, and so I have to end here. It might be worth sacrificing just one pen to jam it in this woman’s jugular.
Michonne looked in the mirror and ran her hands over her head. All of her locs were gone. She cut them off. Her skin looked ashen and her eyes had a sad look to them. She frowned. The chemo was taking it’s toll on her. She tried to stay upbeat. She didn’t want to bring the kids down. She didn’t want to bring Rick down.
She took her rag and stuck it under the faucet. The warm water rushed over her hands and the square cloth she held. She wrung it out and put the rag on her face. It was something so little, washing your face in the morning, but Michonne appreciated it. It was like you were reminding yourself you were awake. That life was happening right now. She always noticed the small, the mundane. She turned the water off and hung her rag up. She left the bathroom and laid back down in her bed. She was always so tired now. She hated the light and kept her curtains closed all day.
Thank god for her stepson, Carl, who was now 20. He took a semester off from his junior year in college to help with the kids. He dropped everything to be there for Michonne. You’ve always been there for me, so I’m gonna be here for you. Carl told her with tears in his eyes.The news had devastated him.
Judith was now six. She lived with Rick and Michonne during the school year and spent the summers with her mother, Lori. Carl and Judith were Lori’s children. Her and Rick were still good friends. They just couldn’t be married to one another. They made divorce look easy, though, because they loved their kid’s. Lori’s job required a lot of travel, so Judith stayed with them the majority of the time.
Which Judith loved because she got to play with her little brother, Marcus. I like having a little brother. I get to boss him around like Carl bosses me. Michonne laughed at the memory of her scrunched up little face saying that. Judith didn’t like being bossed around.
Marcus didn’t really give Judith much trouble. He was only a year old. Her baby boy had the cutest eyes. They were hazel, almost like an amber stone color. He had curly hair like his dad and even acted like him. He would sit in Rick’s lap, and lean his head in the same direction as his dad as they watched cartoons. They even slept the same way. On their backs with their mouths slightly parted. They were two peas in a pod.
She rolled over and heard something. Like a piece of paper being crumpled. She felt under her until she discovered the piece of paper. It was a letter. She reached over and turned her lamp on, sitting up to read it.
I’ve often been told by many that I never was a good speaker. That I really could never put my words together, but I’m not that way with you. I could write you forever. I could talk to you forever.
Remember when we took Carl and Judith to D.C for the summer. We lost our luggage, you lost your wallet. It was so hot outside. I wanted to be mad. I really was, but you told me we could still have fun. And we did. Carl really enjoyed the museums, and Judith had so much fun just being out of the house.
Remember when we met. It wasn’t on the best of terms. I hit your car and you were late for work. My truck wasn’t that bad after the collision, so I offered to drive you there. You were mad the whole ride, but you stole my heart. Even with your crossed arms and pouty face.
Now. Now we have another obstacle ahead of us. When we went to the appointment a while ago and they said they found cancer in your breasts, I broke down on the inside. You’re so young. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t want to believe it. When they said you needed to think about removal, and you cried because it was all so overwhelming, I cried with you. It is overwhelming. The chemo, the medicine, the aches and pains. But we’re fighting through this, Michonne. WE are fighting through this.
The only thing I see when I look at you is Michonne. Michonne is the mother of my children. You are my lover. You are my friend. You are my wife. I love you, no matter what is going on with your body. None of that matters. You matter. You’re my warrior and you are strong and we got this. The love I have for you is never going to waver. It’s not going to fade.
I love you so much, Michonne.
“Mommy Michonne, Mommy Michonne.” She heard Judith yell. Judith burst into her room and paused. She saw Michonne’s tears.
“Mommy Michonne, are you sad?” Judith said with her big brown eyes, clutching her teddy bear. She had her blonde hair in a ponytail. She looked adorable in the little pink outfit she had on.
Michonne smiled. “No, Judy. These are happy tears.” Judith walked up to her and gave her a hug.
“I’m glad you’re happy. I like happy tears.” She said hugging her.
Michonne started chuckling. “Awww, Judy. I love happy tears, too.” Rick was amazing. He just knew how she felt. She had been feeling that way. Like he wasn’t attracted to her, but he still cuddled her. He still whispered sweet nothings in her ear every night. He still loved her.
Just then he walked in with Marcus. “You see mama? You see your mama, Marcus?” Rick said as he crossed the room with him in his arms. Marcus reached for Michonne and gave her a big silly grin. Michonne loved her kids. They just melted her heart. Carl walked into the room about a minute later.
“There you are. Judith, I thought I told you not to bother Michonne.” He gave Judith a stern look. Michonne told him it was okay. He finally cut that long hair, she noticed. Now he opted to try to grow this beard. These Grimes men and their hair. She thought to herself.
Everybody ended up sitting on Rick and Michonne’s bed. Rick turned the TV on and rested his back against the headboard. He motioned with his hand for Michonne to come closer. Judith started giving Marcus an A,B,C lesson which he didn’t understand, and Carl laid at the end of the bed and watched them play.
Rick kissed Michonne on her forehead. "You get my letter?” He asked as they looked at their family.
“Yeah, I got your letter. Thank You.” She looked up and kissed him on the lips.
So my grandfather and my mom are going through old photos and there are a bunch of them he took in Europe in the 60s and I want them so bad because they’re extremely Aesthetic and Tumblr would love them
Le Billet Doux (The Love Letter). Jean-Honoré Fragonard (French, 1732-1806). Oil on canvas, unlined.
The thick and creamy handling of the paint and the sparkling effects of light pouring through the window to illuminate the young girl’s startled face and shapely bust are characteristic of Fragonard’s works in the 1770s, as is the witty motif of the boy straining to drop his love letter through the tiny round window.
Hello! My name is Wyatt! And I’m in search of a pen pal! Multiple if possible!
If you don’t speak English that’s okay because I also speak Deutsch 🇩🇪 Русская 🇷🇺 Français 🇫🇷 and I can hold a conversation in Chinese 🇨🇳 and Latin (Should anyone be a time traveler from the Roman Empire)
I am a very gay boy from the US and love to read and write books, a lot of literature I enjoy are written by Orwell 👀 But I am lacking in people to write to! So hit me up on my tumblr here: @Lost-Son-of-Rome and send an address in that ask box so I can write you!