Mrs. T-800
schwarzenegger fangirl ♡t-800 from t2 is my love♡
- Nov 25, 2025
- 110
I wonder what will happen. I think about it often. Today, in the car – "Love is No Joke" came on – I welled up in tears.
Love is no joke. It is true.
I love you so much that I think I'll make and freeze you some meals before I go.
I will clean the house top to bottom, and do the laundry, and fold everything in its most neat forms yet.
I will do all the dishes and polish all the silver.
I will take out the trash.
I will water the plants.
I will leave it all as I do every night before we go to bed, and then, perhaps while you are working, or sleeping, I will go to bed for eternity.
My rosaries will be untouched in the drawer, and my slippers unfooted next to the bed, and my books not there – I will have finished them foresightedly and not begun another.
My VHS tapes will all be rewound and stacked neatly. No need, of course, for the DVD discs. You can watch any you choose.
I will leave you all the cash and cards and checks somewhere openly. I will delete any accounts you need not worry. I will put any shared subscriptions into your name and turn off ones intended for me. (No more Vanity Fair, no more Reader's Digest, no more newspaper, no more German TV. Don't worry.)
I will remove anything past its expiration date in the pantry and in the kitchen and ensure that you have things that are simple to heat and eat when my frozen preparations are gone. I hope you say nothing of the increase in frozen and canned food in the weeks before. I only want to look out for you.
I will place my jewelry in the catch dish as usual. The wedding ring was your mother's, anyway, and you paid for my beautiful engagement and betrothal rings.
None of my jewelry fits you. Still, it is yours. I wonder what you will do with the ring I bought you intending for you to wear it on your pinky – it had both of our birthstones and it was a unique and beautiful piece – but it didn't fit you at all. It was just right on my middlemost finger.
I wonder what you will delegate to whom. Please give my mother my diamonds. Please bring my pearls to my sisters. Please consider my friends and my goddaughter and my gemstones. I know you will.
We never got the time to find a place to be buried together. We never had a window in which to write a will. (I could barely keep a diary.)
I'll try to tie up every loose end for you, though. It is the most I can do, on my end.
I promised my life to you. I did not say how long it would be.
You are a good husband. I trust you and I love you.
I try my best to bring you peace and happiness in all of your days.
Some of those days will eventually be without me.
They say the job of a spouse is to help the other get to heaven. I hope you'll find someone to help you there more hopefully and hastily. The smear of suicide will be a stain on your record on my part. I apologize.
I will do what I can for you on earth.
I will vouch for you when your time comes.
I love you so much.
Live long, my husband.
Love is no joke. It is true.
I love you so much that I think I'll make and freeze you some meals before I go.
I will clean the house top to bottom, and do the laundry, and fold everything in its most neat forms yet.
I will do all the dishes and polish all the silver.
I will take out the trash.
I will water the plants.
I will leave it all as I do every night before we go to bed, and then, perhaps while you are working, or sleeping, I will go to bed for eternity.
My rosaries will be untouched in the drawer, and my slippers unfooted next to the bed, and my books not there – I will have finished them foresightedly and not begun another.
My VHS tapes will all be rewound and stacked neatly. No need, of course, for the DVD discs. You can watch any you choose.
I will leave you all the cash and cards and checks somewhere openly. I will delete any accounts you need not worry. I will put any shared subscriptions into your name and turn off ones intended for me. (No more Vanity Fair, no more Reader's Digest, no more newspaper, no more German TV. Don't worry.)
I will remove anything past its expiration date in the pantry and in the kitchen and ensure that you have things that are simple to heat and eat when my frozen preparations are gone. I hope you say nothing of the increase in frozen and canned food in the weeks before. I only want to look out for you.
I will place my jewelry in the catch dish as usual. The wedding ring was your mother's, anyway, and you paid for my beautiful engagement and betrothal rings.
None of my jewelry fits you. Still, it is yours. I wonder what you will do with the ring I bought you intending for you to wear it on your pinky – it had both of our birthstones and it was a unique and beautiful piece – but it didn't fit you at all. It was just right on my middlemost finger.
I wonder what you will delegate to whom. Please give my mother my diamonds. Please bring my pearls to my sisters. Please consider my friends and my goddaughter and my gemstones. I know you will.
We never got the time to find a place to be buried together. We never had a window in which to write a will. (I could barely keep a diary.)
I'll try to tie up every loose end for you, though. It is the most I can do, on my end.
I promised my life to you. I did not say how long it would be.
You are a good husband. I trust you and I love you.
I try my best to bring you peace and happiness in all of your days.
Some of those days will eventually be without me.
They say the job of a spouse is to help the other get to heaven. I hope you'll find someone to help you there more hopefully and hastily. The smear of suicide will be a stain on your record on my part. I apologize.
I will do what I can for you on earth.
I will vouch for you when your time comes.
I love you so much.
Live long, my husband.
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