Beautifulwithlove - Dear Chris part 5

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
Part 5

Submitted: January 27, 2014

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Submitted: January 27, 2014

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Dear Crimbo, 
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Its 2:39 in the morning and im listening to your favorite song whilst i look through all our photos together, you will be laughing at my room. I still have a drawer with all your stuff in it and i still have all our photos up. In fact my mums banned me from buying anymore photo frames because i pin up all our memories and literally my rooms turning into a shrine. 
 
But that's what helps me oddly enough, just the though that im being surrounded with your photos and beautiful face eases the pain slightly but it doesn't and will never ease my broken heart. My body is use to being up this late now because i simply cannot function a day without you and nights become so unbearable without the comfort of you. Every night, i close my eyes and i pray so hard that i can wake up and you will be facing me directly the way you use to fall asleep, or that id wake up and your arms are wrapped around me so tightly that i would forget the world for a second. Now i wake up to the embrace of my shadow, i have never felt the pain of being alone so much since you have been gone. I literally am torn apart because you kept me functioning, you seemed to have this wonderful affect on my life that no one else will ever understand.
 
If only i could have you back, i promise i would never let you go again. I wouldn't let you do anything because i don't think i could ever lose you a second time over. All honesty i wish i never helped you with your application for America, and its not that i didn't want you to achieve your dream, because i would have never held you back, but its that if someone could have told me what my future held, i would never have let you go for a second. 
 
You loved America, you loved McDonald's to be fair or the beer.... Occasionally :). You said that when you go over there that you would love to open your own restaurant, and you would have it all Italian, and proper. Yeah before you doubt me for a second ( Chris normally butts in) i was listening to you all those times we sat in Frankie and Benny's. Never saw someone eat so many meatballs in my life or the fact that we ate for a family of five between us, no wonder the waiter loved serving us as well cause you would give them a £7 tip all the time. Then you would moan because i am moaning about you spending that wee £7 extra. Now i am smiling at the thought of typing and sharing this memory with you. 
 
Do you remember that time we use to lay on top of the bed and talk about life? Literally everything and something that you always told me was that i am too nice for my own good and that i needed to "man" up the Divers way, and guess what... im a changed girl. I'm still your girl in fact im the female version of you now.. Celtic mad and football daft.. pitty i cannot kick a ball like you. 
 
I saw your football boots lying in your room the other night and again, it all came flooding back to me.. All those night you played football until half  eight in the park with your pals and you would be so quick in telling me how good you played or how crap you thought you played, but as far as i know you were amazing at that. I don't actually think i could flaw you in any way, in fact i take that back.. you had terrible habits of leaving your wet towels in the room floor and i always had to clean the room when it was your half.
 
Every couple has there half of the room, except we did at one point but you couldn't handle cleaning up your mess.. Then you said i was your "Cleaner" ha. I miss your funny personality. Your endless sense of humor was just on form constantly and that's what i loved most about you. You lived life to the fullest that you could, and i promise that everything you told me that you wanted to do i will add it to my bucket-list and i will do it all for you, maybe not perfectly but i will try. Anything  for you Chris. If only heaven was a stairway away then id climb them all to see you again. 
 


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