My dearest love,

I remember when we were children and we ran away from home together. We were convinced we could be better off on our own than in our safe warm homes. Maybe we would have if we packed more than just one peanut butter and jelly sandwich to sustain us.

Thank goodness for the blueberry bush that we found to help us stay satiated.

I remember our fake wedding, which felt so real to me. It had just rained and the air smelled like magic. I walked down the aisle to an audience of grasshoppers and worms. I put wildflowers in my hair and we exchanged four leaf clovers instead of rings.

I still have mine tucked away in the book you read me that day. Your voice was as warm as the sunshine. I have never felt more at peace than I did in that moment.

Today I am getting married to someone who is not you. I have blueberry bush leaves in my bouquet. A special joke and tribute to you.

I want to walk down the aisle to your grave and muddy my white dress digging you up. I miss your presence so desperately my bones ache thinking about it.

Even though I love the person I’m marrying at the alter, they are not you. It is shameful and unfair to compare you two, but I can’t help it.

No blueberry bushes will replace the hole you have left inside me. I fear my betrothed will find the hole and become enraged that I didn’t disclose it before we became legally bound. They will just need to accept that this hole is a part of me, and love that non-part of me as much as they love the rest of me. I fear that’s too much to ask from one human though. I don’t think it would be too much to ask from you - then again, I wouldn’t have the hole to begin with if I could ask.

I miss you. I love you.