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"𝐈'𝐦 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐈'𝐦 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐈'𝐦 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠."

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.・. .・゜✭・.・✫・゜・. .

To Mom,

I don't really know what day it is, but it's getting warmer, so I think my birthday's either coming up or already happened. Thirteen, huh? That sounds old when I say it, but I don't feel old. I feel... weird. 

I guess I'm still getting used to everything. It's been a while since Rick died, and I still can't believe he's gone. Sometimes I wake up and forget he's not here anymore. Like, I'll have a dream about him and Carl or something, and then I wake up, and it all comes rushing back. I don't like that feeling. It's like there's this big hole inside of me that I ain't able to fill, no matter what I do.

Living out here with Daryl's been... okay, I guess. He's quiet most of the time, but that's alright. I think he's still sad too, even if he doesn't show it. He doesn't talk about Rick much, but I know he misses him. 

He thinks I don't know the reason we're out here is to search for something that will make it feel real, that Rick's gone, but I know. I know he doesn't want it to be real just as much as I don't. If we ever do find anything, it's gonna hurt a lot more than it already does.

But we don't really talk about a lot of things. Sometimes it's just easier to not say anything. I don't want to make him sadder, you know? I don't want him to see how sad I am, either.

We move around a lot. It's hard to get comfortable when we're always packing up and finding a new place to camp. Daryl says it's safer that way, and I get it, but I just wish we could stay somewhere for longer. Just once. I miss having a bed, and walls, and a place that feels like home. Daryl says this is home now, but it doesn't feel like it. I don't think anywhere feels like home no more. I don't know if it ever will. 

Sometimes I think about the prison or Alexandria and wish we could go back. I know that's stupid—the prison is gone and Alexandria well, it's not the same, but I can't help it. I miss how life used to be, I mean, it has always been an endless pile'a shit in this world, but there used to be so many more of us, so many people who ain't here no more.

Daryl's teaching me a lot of stuff, though. Like how to set traps, track animals, and move without making a sound. I think he's proud when I get something right, even if he doesn't say it. He just kinda grunts or nods, which I guess is the same thing. I like it when he's proud of me. Makes me feel like I'm not completely useless out here. 

He's been making me practice using weapons more too, even let me have a go of his crossbow, I was shit. No surprise. But I did feel cool using it, even laughed as the bolt completely missed the target, a sound I ain't heard in forever.

I still think about Negan sometimes. I mean, I try not to, but I can't help it. It's like he's stuck in my head and I can't get him out, no matter how hard I try. I used to think he was this big hero, like he could do no wrong, but now... I don't know. 

I'm starting to understand that maybe he wasn't as great as I thought he was. Daryl hasn't said much about him, but I can tell he doesn't like talking about it when I bring him up. I don't think he likes me talking 'bout him at all. Maybe he's right not to. 

I don't know what to think about that. It's confusing. I want to believe that he loved me, but if he did, why did he do the things he did? Why did he hurt people? Why did he hurt me? I don't know if I'll ever get answers to those questions. 

It makes me mad sometimes, and other times it just makes me sad. Maybe he was just trying his best. Maybe he didn't know how to be any better in this world. I wish I could ask him. I wish I could ask you, too. You always knew what to say to make things make sense.

There's this ache in my chest when I think about you. It's like I miss you so much that it hurts, and I don't know how to make it stop. I try to remember your face, your voice, the way you used to hold me when I was scared, but it's all getting fuzzy. I hate that. 

I'm scared that one day I'm going to forget what you looked like or sounded like, and that scares me more than anything else. I don't want to lose you, too, not even in my memories. I wish you were here. I wish I could hear you tell me that it's going to be okay, that I'm going to be okay.

Sometimes, at night, when Daryl's asleep, I talk to you. I know you can't hear me, but it makes me feel better, even if it's just for a little while. I tell you about the things we did that day, or about the deer we saw in the woods, or how the stars looked when we were sitting by the fire. I pretend you're listening, that you're nodding and smiling like you used to when I'd tell you about my day. I know it's silly, but it helps. It's the only thing that helps some nights.

I'm not used to feeling so alone. I mean, I have Daryl, and I'm glad for that, but it's not the same. I don't have anyone to talk to, really talk to, about what's going on inside my head. Daryl wouldn't exactly get it, you know?

He's strong and tough, and he doesn't let things get to him the way they get to me. I don't think he'd understand if I told him how scared I am all the time. How sometimes it feels like the whole world is just waiting to swallow me up, and I don't know if I'm strong enough to keep going.

I mean, I could speak to him and I know he'd be there, he'd know what to say. But still, I hate talking 'bout how shitty I feel, just feels like I'm dumping all my problems onto him and hoping he'll fix me. But, I don't think I can be fixed. My minds a mess and everything feels bad inside.

I wish I could tell you about the good stuff too, though. Like the time Daryl and I found this little stream hidden deep in the woods. The water was so clear, and it was the prettiest thing I'd seen in a long time. We stayed there for a while, just sitting on the rocks and listening to the water. I felt... almost peaceful, for a little bit. Like the world wasn't so heavy.

I guess what I'm trying to say is... I don't know how to feel. I don't know if I'm doing this right, living like this, being out here. But I'm trying, Mom. I'm trying to be strong like you always said I was. I'm trying to keep going, even when it feels like I can't. I hope you'd be proud of me, even if I'm not sure I'm doing a good job.

But, I'm thirteen now, well, I think anyway. Officially a teenager, who would'a thought I'd make it this long, huh? I wonder if you think I look any older.

I love you. I miss you. I hope you can hear me, wherever you are.

Love,
Sunny

.・. .・゜✭・.・✫・゜・. .

To Mom,

It's getting warmer again, so I think I'm fifteen now. Or at least close enough. Another birthday out here in the woods. But I'm doing better—most days, at least. 

I mean, there are still those days where I just get lost in my own head, and everything feels heavy and kinda far away, but I'm starting to think that's just how it's always gonna be. Maybe that's okay, though. I can handle it. I think I'm a lot stronger than I used to be. Daryl says so, and I think he means it, even if he doesn't say it much.

I've been to the Kingdom three whole times this month. Daryl's been pretty insistent about it, says I need to be around people more. He even made me stay over there for a few nights each time, just to make sure I was "hangin' with kids my age," he said. 

I didn't get why he was being so pushy about it at first, but then when I got back that third time, I saw him walking back to camp, and he looked different. Sad, tired, with a new dog trailing behind him. I knew right then he'd been up to something, so I asked him what was going on.

Turns out, he'd been visiting someone. A woman. He told me he'd been sneaking off to see her for a while, and he was keeping it secret because he didn't trust her enough or something. I think what he meant was, he didn't trust her to know 'bout me, he didn't want me in danger or something, I guess.

But now she's gone. He didn't say how or why, just that she was gone, and he looked... broken, I guess. It was strange seeing him like that. He looked like how I felt after Negan, after Rick, after everything. I told him I wanted to meet her, to see for myself if she was good enough for him, but he said it was too late. And then he didn't talk about her anymore. Just kinda shut down.

So, now we've got this new dog. Daryl named him Dog, which is probably the dumbest name in the world. I mean, I get it—he's not exactly creative when it comes to names, but come on. 

I would've called him something cool, like Shadow or Ace or something. But, whatever, it's his dog, I guess. He's a good dog, though. Follows me everywhere and sleeps curled up right next to me at night. It's nice having him around. It feels less lonely, even if it's just a dog.

I remember I used to beg dad to get me a dog, but he'd always tell me 'bout that story about the stray dogs he brought in when he was a kid, the one that bit grandma's ear off. Said he didn't trust them around me, and I'd be way too sad when it died. But Dog's good, I love him a whole lot.

It's funny how random things stick in your head, 'cause I was thinking about my birthday, the one I had before everything went to hell. I must've been about eight, and we had this little party in the backyard. 

I remember how excited you were, how you'd spent the whole morning decorating, putting up these silly little streamers in the trees and making sure the cake was perfect. Dad was there too, and I remember his huge smile. He was happy. We were all happy.

But no one showed up. We waited and waited, and I remember feeling so embarrassed and sad, like I'd done something wrong, like it was my fault no one came. But you and Dad—God, you two were the best that day. You didn't let me feel bad about it for long. 

You cranked up the music, and Dad grilled burgers, and we played all the games you'd set up for the other kids. I remember you dancing around in the grass like a goof, and Dad lifting me up onto his shoulders so I could reach the piñata we never got to use. It was just us three, but it ended up being the best day. We didn't need anyone else, I guess. We never did.

I think about that day a lot. Sometimes I wonder what it would've been like if things hadn't fallen apart, if I could've had more birthdays like that one. But that's just... not how things went, I guess. I try not to get stuck on the "what ifs," but it's hard sometimes, especially around my birthday. It's like all the memories just rush back, and I can't stop them.

Daryl doesn't know about that birthday. I don't think I've told him even though I tell him a lot about the past. I don't know why. Maybe because I'm scared he'll feel bad, like he has to make up for it somehow, and I don't want that. 

I don't want him to think he has to make me happy all the time. He's already done enough just by sticking around. I think he's worried I'll run off if he's not keeping an eye on me, but he doesn't have to worry about that anymore. I'm not going anywhere. He's all I've got left, and I don't want to lose him.

It's weird, though. Even after all these years, I still think about Dad, well, Negan. Part of me wants to forget everything about him, all the bad stuff, but I can't. He's always there, in the back of my mind. Some days I miss him so much it hurts, and other days I'm just mad—mad at him for everything he did, for hurting us, for being the way he was. 

I don't know if I'll ever figure out how I feel about him. It's like there's this knot inside me that I can't untangle, no matter how hard I try.

I think that's why I'm scared to get too close to people. I don't want to get hurt again, like I did with him. Like I did with Lincoln, Rick and everyone else we lost. It's easier to just keep a little distance, to not let anyone in too close. Daryl says I'm just like him that way, but I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Maybe it's both.

I don't know what the next year's gonna bring. Things seem to change so fast out here, and it's hard to plan or hope for anything. But I think I'm doing okay, Mom. I think I'm getting better, even if it's slow. Daryl says I been through a ton of shit that ain't ever gonna be easy to move past, but I think I'm managing.

I still miss you, every single day. I wonder what you'd think if you could see me now—if you'd be proud of the person I'm becoming. I hope so. I hope I'm doing enough to make you proud.

I love you. I miss you more than words can say. I'll keep going, and I'll keep trying, for you.

Love,
Sunny

.・. .・゜✭・.・✫・゜・. .

To Mom,

I think it's summer again. And I think I'm eighteen now. Eighteen. Can you believe it? I remember when you and Dad used to talk about me turning eighteen like it was gonna be the biggest, most important thing. 

You both always said you'd throw the biggest party, make it this huge deal. Dad always joked that he'd have to get a shotgun to keep the boys away. You'd just laugh and roll your eyes, saying I'd be too busy studying or traveling the world to even notice the boys.

But instead, I'm out here in the woods with Daryl and Dog, and there's no party. No big cake or decorations or people. It's just us, like it's been for years now. And you know what? I don't think I'd want it any other way.

I didn't expect Daryl to do anything for my birthday. It's not like we've got a calendar out here, counting the days. But when it started getting hot again, we both kinda just knew. I guess you start to notice things like that when you're out here long enough—the seasons changing, the days getting longer. 

So when it felt like the right time, he surprised me. He actually did something for my birthday, and it was... it was perfect.

He didn't make a big fuss or anything. That's not his style. But he made a little fire in the clearing we camp in sometimes, and he handed me this small, leather journal he'd been holding onto. He said it was for me, that I should keep writing 'cause he knows how much it means to me to speak to you every now and then.

I don't know where he found it or how long he's been saving it, but it meant a lot. I think he knows I don't write as much as I used to, that sometimes I don't know what to say, but he still wanted me to have it. 

And he gave me a book mark for it, a dried up Cherokee rose. He's been searching for one ever since Lincoln ruined the other one, and he said he'd finally found it a few weeks back, been keeping it close waiting for the perfect time. I almost started sobbing when I saw it.

And then, he pulled out this little bundle wrapped in cloth. It was a necklace—a tiny, wooden carving of a flower, like the ones that grow near the creek in spring. He said he'd been working on it whenever he had a quiet moment, trying to make it look right. 

I didn't even know he knew how to carve something like that, but he did. And it's beautiful. I've been wearing it ever since. I think he was worried it wouldn't mean much, but it meant everything. It was the best gift I could've gotten.

We sat by the fire for a long time that night, just talking about nothing and everything. Daryl even found a couple of cans of peaches he'd been saving, and we shared them, pretending they were some kind of fancy birthday dessert. It wasn't much, I guess. Just us, Dog curled up by the fire, the stars out above us. But it was... it was enough. More than enough. Perfect, even.

Still, I couldn't help but wish you were there. I thought about you a lot that night. I thought about how you would've loved the woods, the quiet and the way everything feels simpler out here. And I thought about what you would've said if you'd seen me now—grown up, out here in the middle of nowhere, with Daryl and Dog. I wonder if you'd recognize me. I hope you would.

I think it was the best birthday I've ever had, even without the balloons and music and all that. Just him, me, and Dog, out here in the woods. It's been that way for a long time now, and it feels... right. 

It'd be weird to go back to living in a community after all this time. I think about them sometimes—Carol, Michonne, Judith, the others—but it's not the same. I still miss them, miss the way things were before we left, but I don't think I belong there anymore. Out here, it's different. It's simpler. It's just us three, and that feels good. Feels safe.

I kinda like it this way, making Daryl grumpy with my jokes and teasing. I like how he pretends he's annoyed, but I know he secretly likes it. He's not good at hiding things from me anymore. And Dog—he's always making me laugh, bringing back the most disgusting walker parts he can find, like some kind of twisted trophy. 

The look on Daryl's face when he drops a severed hand in the dirt is just priceless. It's gross, but it makes me laugh so hard, and I think even Daryl cracks a smile every now and then.

This is my life now, and it's okay. More than okay, actually. I feel... at peace. I guess that's the word. It's not the life I thought I'd have, but it's mine. I'm an adult now—Daryl's made a big deal about that, saying I should start acting like it. But I don't know. I still feel like a kid half the time. 

Daryl says I'm just a big kid who doesn't know when to shut up, but he's smiling when he says it, so I think it's alright. I guess I never really got to be a kid much, and I don't wanna lose that part of me now. I don't think I have to.

I wish you were here. I wish you could see me and know that I'm okay, that I'm happy. I wish you could meet Dog and see how good Daryl is to me, how he's always looking out for me even when he's being all grumpy and quiet. I think you'd like it out here. It's peaceful, most days. And I think you'd be proud of me. At least, I hope you would be.

Negan on the other hand... I don't really think about him much anymore. It's like he's faded, just a shadow I don't need to look at anymore. I know he doesn't deserve any space in my head after everything he put me through, all the lies and the cruelty. 

But there's still this stupid little voice inside me, some part of me that won't let go. That still loves him. That still wishes he could've been the dad I needed. I guess that's something I just have to live with. 

But I'm not angry about it anymore. I don't feel that weight on my chest like I used to. I think... I think I'm okay with him just being a part of my past. He doesn't get to be my future. He doesn't get to decide who I am.

I don't need him. I never did. I have Daryl, and he's enough. He's been enough for a long time now, even if it took me a while to realize it. He's been the one who's always there, who doesn't give up on me even when I mess up or get too caught up in my own head. He's the one who's never left, and I don't think he ever will. He's my family. He's the one I count on.

And I still have you, in a way. You're always with me. In the way I laugh, the way I smile, the way I keep pushing forward even when it's hard. I think that's you. I hope that's you. I think you'd be proud of who I am now, even if I'm not exactly where you imagined I'd be.

I'm not scared of the future anymore. Not like I used to be. I know it's not gonna be easy, and there's a part of me that's still worried I'll mess it all up, but I think... I think I'll be okay. I've got Daryl, and I've got Dog, and I've got everything you and Dad taught me. That's enough, I think.

Eighteen. I made it, Mom. I'm still here, and I'm still fighting, and I think... I think I'm doing okay. Maybe I'm even doing better than okay. I hope you're watching me, somewhere, and that you're proud of who I've become. I've still got so much to learn, so much to figure out, but I'm doing my best. I promise you that.

I miss you. I love you. I wish you were here with me, every single day. But I'm not alone. I've got Daryl, and I've got Dog, and my mind still keeps me busy, and somehow, that's enough. I'll keep writing, I promise. I'll fill up that journal Daryl gave me and then some. I won't forget you, and I won't stop fighting. Not ever.

Love always,
Sunny

.・. .・゜✭・.・✫・゜・. .

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞

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A small filler chapter to fill the gap IG :D 

Even after six years, Sunny still writes to her mom every now and then and it melts my heart ARGH.

Tysm @DaddyDarnel for this chap idea bby <333