I write these.

It helps somewhat.

I receive hope that he will find them and come back to me.

But this hope is diminished, when I realize how far away they are.

I cared for all, and five reject.

Only the most loving cared, the fatherly and motherly ones.

They treated me as if I was a Cullen.

I wish.

If I was, I'd have him. And I'm chilled to the bone once more, and tears that I thought I had none more reappear.

My eyes are tired and dulled.

I don't have a reason.

Isabella Marie Swan, the stone.

I try day and night. I try to find them.

But it's hopeless, as I am not one of them, nor one of their species.

It's been an emotional rollercoaster.

I'm pained, then numbed, repeat.

I've felt everything, and yet nothing.

Five reject. Only one can heal.

He can take care of my heart.

Care for it and nurture it as if it was his child.

But he does the opposite; forgets about it and never knows that he holds it.

It's invisible to five sets of eyes. Five cannot see it.

Two can.

I have a draft in my inbox, a hopeless love letter. It's addressed to him, like he'll ever receive it.

If I clicked send, it'd be returned.

They've disappeared forever, but they haunt me. In my dreams they speak.

The fatherly and motherly figures speak with love and care.

Come with us, Bella. You'll be safer here.

But the other five reject with cold, venomous tones.

You're just a human. You can't live with us. It's for vampires, not clumsy humans.

And I open my eyes to my ceiling.

Wetness pours down my cheeks.

This hurts and numbs.

Help me.

Save me from this nightmare.

I wish. I wish he would come to my rescue. My pale knight in armor, with golden eyes and lips I'd like to feel with my own.

If only I was not Isabella Marie Swan, the clumsy, brown-haired, brown-eyed human teenager.

If only I was Isabella Marie Swan-Hale, the swift, brown-haired, first red-eyed, then yellow-eyed vampire teenager.

But if I was ever one of their species, I'd be Isabella Marie Swan.

The swift, brown-haired, red-eyed newborn vampire teenager.

Created only for battle and killed in a matter of minutes.

I wonder if he's still a Texas gentleman and cowboy on the inside, with a sweet Texan accent.

I'd be his cowgirl.

I'd die a happy girl if I was.

But I'll have to face reality.

I end this with a usual note to him. They're honest, but they live off paper, not my voice.

I love you, Jasper.

Take it to heart.