Yours for Eternity: A Love Story on Death Row

by Damien Echols

  Yours for eternity,

  D.

  March 27, 1997

  My dearest:

  I am beginning to think I will suffer almost as horribly as you will in your quest to give up cigarettes.

  You are breaking my heart—when you called tonight—crying and saying that no matter what you can never do enough. Do you know how it makes me feel? I can’t even begin to explain it to you. It’s like everything is in vain. I know how you feel now when I ask questions—and you said, “Either you believe I belong to you or you don’t and that’s it.” Well, either you believe that I can’t live without you, and you are the meaning for me to be alive, and I love you more every day—and therefore all you need to do is let everything be—just let it happen. How many times have you told me that?

  Sometimes I think we are the same person—sometimes I know exactly how you feel—I’ve felt those exact things. How do you survive it? I wonder how much of it is a strain on you from withdrawal? It kills me that you have to go through this—it does. It kills me if it takes you away from me—even for a minute.

  You must always remember, Damien—my life is over without you. I will cease living. Now, I can’t stop crying. Can we stop hurting each other? Can’t we just hold each other so close in our hearts and just find the strength in that? That’s what I have always done.

  I keep going over in my head what have I done to make him feel this way?

  Was it talking about Domini? Was it being upset about the football player comment? Or maybe you want to pull away—because I can’t. I have always told you if anything ever happened to us it would be because you leave me.

  Please stop. Please stop doubting—it really does cause me so much pain.

  You couldn’t know how much I acknowledge what you do for me.

  It is I who could never, ever do enough for you.

  To be quite honest—I feel I don’t even fit into hardly any of your life . . .

  All this stuff has been going on—everyone else knows about it. That guy from Baton Rouge going to see Domini. You arranging with the little people to talk to her so that you might see Seth . . .

  A whole world has been happening that I know nothing about. Everyone around you—all these things they are doing for you and they’re all connected to you—and I’m here. I’m nothing and now you say you feel me pulling away. When you doubt me it makes me feel even more invisible.

  I am so sad. How could you doubt me?

  How could you?

  After everything we’ve been through—after everything that has happened.

  Maybe you want me to go away.

  Maybe you want your life back.

  Maybe you want the simplicity of Domini—maybe you just don’t want to tell me.

  You can’t just call me up and do that to me—you can’t. Because all I can think now is—he doubts me, he has lost faith, he has lost love.

  Hence, I am forever lost.

  How can you doubt us? How can you doubt this one thing we have been given in this life . . . this one hope?

  I must stop.

  No matter what you think—I love you and you will always own my soul.

  Lorri

  April 1, 1997

  My Dearest Love,

  No, I didn’t think you were crazy, but now I know that you are. What is all this garbage about me doubting you or doubting us? Where the hell did that come from? Lorri, I never doubted you, I never doubted us. You started jumping to conclusions that I never even saw coming. How could you even think such a thing? How could you let that idea even enter your mind?

  And all the talk about me pulling away from you, or wanting a “simple” life??!!! What the fuck?! Lorri, how could I ever even think of pulling away from you? You are my life, you are everything I live for, and everything I’ve ever been through was bringing me to you, there is nothing outside of you, so how could I pull away? I don’t understand it. And how could life without you be simple? Before you came, my life was agony, it was a living hell, because I didn’t have you—so how can you call that simple?

  I was trying to explain that no words could ever express how much I love you, and that no action I could ever perform could demonstrate how much you mean to me—and you think I’m trying to pull away from you?! I was crying because there was no way for me to show you what you do to me, how you make me feel, how overcome I was by what I feel for you, and you think I want to get away from you.

  Lorri, don’t you understand that you are my life? Without you, I am nothing. I live only for you. And if you believe any of those things you said, even for a second, then you had to believe that everything between us was a lie.

  Baby, I have no life without you. I would end this life in a split second if I didn’t have you. Lorri, without you it would all be over. There would be no reason to continue with anything. We are linked body and soul, and if I were separated from you, I would curl up and die.

  I don’t want to ever hear of you thinking, feeling, or saying anything like that ever again. I have given you my life, my heart, and my soul, I belong to you, Lorri. If you ever think otherwise, then you’re fooling yourself. I love you, Lorri Davis—not for 100 years, or 1,000 years, I mean for eternity. And don’t you ever forget it, and don’t you ever doubt it.

  When I thought of your words, I panicked. I felt like my heart was about to explode. Lorri, please—you must believe that I am yours, that I love you beyond measure. You are all I live for.

  Please believe it, never doubt it, I love and belong to you for eternity,

  Damien

  April 1, 1997

  Dearest,

  Damien, do you realize how strong it is between us? Oh, of course you do—no one in the world makes love as wonderful as we do. And right now it’s our imaginations—but then, what could be more divine? My only boundary is my words, my vocabulary—but I really can feel everything and I can imagine how everything would feel—but my favorite thing to do lately is to imagine how things would feel to you.

  *

  When I first moved to New York—I found an apartment on 88th Street. It was the fifth floor (a walk-up)—I’ve told you about that place. Well, I had no desire to be with anyone. I was so happy to be with myself only. It was summer and in that apartment it was about 100 degrees every night. I’ve always been very “erotically minded”—meaning I’ve always kind of been turned on by myself—never by anyone else—or anything else—until now—and the match was well worth the wait and the preparation. Anyway . . . my bedroom had a huge window, which faced a bank of apartment buildings.

  So, every night, I would walk around in my apartment, completely nude—with my hair piled up on the top of my head—sometimes I would purposefully do things like bend over to pick something up off the floor facing away from the window, of course, and sometimes I would absentmindedly be touching myself in front of the mirror—or put on lotion—anything. I loved the thought of someone watching me. I loved it. Anyone, man or woman. I didn’t even think about who—just as long as I made them crazy—and I didn’t even really exist for anyone but myself (and you).

  Damien . . .

  I didn’t really do that. I just thought it up and thought it sounded kind of erotic—but only if the person watching me were you and you didn’t know who I was yet—that drives me crazy—and every night you came a million times while watching me. And you were silent, like me.

  *

  There is something very, very exciting to me—the thought of those not worthy of you looking at you and maybe wanting you—and I know you are mine. It does something to me—it is a double-edged sword—my jealousy makes me crazy that they would even consider looking upon you, yet there’s some other part of me that glows within knowing how precious and beautiful you are and completely irresistible—and you are all mine—and I am all yours—and no one could make me feel the way you do.

  T
o be quite honest—I did walk around nude all the time—but I had a curtain—well, a sheet on my window.

  How do you feel about that? About someone looking at me and wanting me—do you hate it or love it or both?

  Forever,

  Lorri

  April 7, 1997

  My love,

  Tonight, I have decided that I will start doing push-ups and sit-ups every day. I did them for a while, then I just quit. It’s very hard. It’s not the actual exercise that’s hard, it’s finding the motivation. It bores me to death. There’s a billion other things I would rather do. But this time I will try to stick to it.

  *

  My beautiful creature, we’re going to build a lot more history together, so I guess you will just feel more “solid” every day. We are going to build a history that stretches to infinity.

  Lorri, don’t think about the “homesick” feeling now. Just remember that we’ll be going home soon, just us, and we will never leave again, and we never have to let anyone in. Forever.

  Lorri, I love Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson.

  And I love you.

  I belong to you for eternity,

  D.

  P.S. I still say that if we ever get married, I want your last name.

  May 2, 1997

  My dearest, dearest Damien,

  Something very scary just happened—

  My doorbell rang—you know how I get . . .

  I hid in the bathroom til they went away. Later, Luis came home and he said—“What’s this?”

  Roses. Left at the door. I was completely freaked out. No note. Nothing. Damien, it scared me. I called Susan. I said, please take these, let them be for you, let them be for you—take them away!!

  Later she called, she said, “Lorri, I found a note. They are for me.”

  I laughed and laughed. I was so happy.

  Things like that terrify me.

  If I would’ve opened the door and there was some man there standing with roses, I would’ve screamed.

  I love you,

  L.

  May 13, 1997

  Miss L.,

  Would you meet me tonight at exactly midnight, so that I may fuck you? If you do not have a previous engagement to attend, I would be delighted to slither my way in between your legs and thrust myself up inside you while running my tongue down your throat to muffle your cries. Or, if you would prefer, I could lie flat on my back so that you could sit over my mouth and feel me licking you, tasting you, while at the same time taking me into your mouth and causing me to come with your exquisite beautiful lips. Actually, Miss L., I am open to any suggestion you may have as to how to pass a delightful evening in your presence. As you may well know, you are in possession of my absolute and total love, and that I am always yours.

  Yours to command in this and all matters,

  D.

  June 30, 1997

  My love,

  Seeing you these last two days did something to me. Everything was different. Everything seems a little easier now. I don’t know how to explain it. But I like it. I feel like I can deal with things easier and better now. Now I can relax and just allow things to flow as they should.

  I believe you were more beautiful this time than I’ve ever seen you look before. I would have given anything to touch you. Lorri, I do pay attention to the things you wear, I notice every little thing about you, don’t think I don’t. I think it’s cute that you think about what you’re going to wear. I love that. And I definitely love the way you look in those pants you wore on Thursday. You have no idea how good your ass looks. You are perfect in every way. I love to look at you.

  I saw a psychiatrist when I was in high school, too. He said, “For the love of hell, lock that thing away.”

  As for what Susan said about people down here not living together before they get married—what’s the point in it? If you’re going to live together, where’s the sense in getting married? I see none.

  *

  Lorri, you’re moving to Little Rock!!! We will only be a few minutes apart!! It’s like I can’t even comprehend it yet, it’s too big to process. Everything’s going to change so much. I just love to think about it. And so soon!

  I am yours,

  Damien

  July 10, 1997

  My love: I just arrived in Little Rock—neither Mara nor Linda is home yet, so I’m sitting on the front porch swing, writing to you. I was listening to the country music station you listen to, hoping against hope you were listening to it, too.

  Damien—I do believe our love is everything to you. I can just be so petty sometimes. All the things that we’ve been talking about seem so pointless—so vapid—when we should only be so, so happy that we have each other. I want to keep you so much to myself—I’m such a baby. But accept anything and everything that happens. I just want to understand why you do the things you do. All my life I’ve wanted to understand things—that’s why religion was so puzzling to me—I couldn’t understand why people felt the need for it—that one I figured out very quickly. But you, you do things and I want to know why—I want to know why you do everything. You speak sometimes of how I seem to be running around in circles tearing my hair out—I suppose if I could find another way to express myself you wouldn’t get caught up in all of that and I could find out what I want (need) to know. Because when we start in—it’s awful and I can’t follow you and I know at times you don’t follow me and most of the time I just want to understand something. My curiosity has nothing to do with doubt of your love for me or of our destiny or my love for you. As I have said so many times—I could never doubt any of that. Never.

  But sometimes, you take it in that way, and I can understand—especially when I’m being childish or jealous or possessive. As you know, those feelings are so caustic to me—I want to fix that somehow. Or at least make it easier. I just want to love you, I just want to make you happy—I don’t want you to feel that I’m anything but right there with you, all the time, holding you. So I’m going to pay a lot more attention to what you say and how I say things. I don’t want to do that anymore, hurt each other. It’s true what you said—the deeper our love gets—the more intense everything gets. It’s so powerful and not to be trifled with.

  It is so quiet in this city. I like the street they live on—there’s no one around. I wish I could just live on this street. Never have to look anywhere else. Do you know I really would like to get a job at a library . . . no, I want to keep drawing. It’s what I like to do. You know I would’ve gotten to you in 61/2 hours today. I can’t believe I haven’t asked, but I wonder if it would be possible to make 2 appointments to see you if they are not consecutive days. Then I could’ve seen you today and Friday. Could things be so civilized?

  There are lots of cats around here. I hope Cretin forgives me, wherever he is.

  *

  I feel so different when I am here, so close to you, so close to where you are physically. Damien, I can really tell a difference. I am much calmer, feel quiet, assured. I know you don’t understand Mara but being around her makes me feel good—I feel something reassuring in her, too. Possibly because she actually knows you and cares for you and respects what we are, enough not to ask me questions—but I can tell she knows it’s something very, very strong. I like it, too, that she’s older than I am—I have always liked being around people that are older than me. Especially if they are smart—which she is—and intuitive and have done a lot in their life. I must say, I don’t usually take advice—because even in times of duress, I know I will find my answer—but I like to hear other people’s perceptions of things.

  I love to take advice from you though. You are the first soul I have ever listened to. I wish sometimes you would give me more—’cause I love to hear what you think of my predicaments. I also love to give you advice. I love it, love it, love it. Because it means so much to me when you ask—I think
about those things for days when you ask—even though I know my first inclination is the right one.

  So . . . now that I have calmed down . . .

  How would you feel if someone was concerned about your effect on me? Would dare question it—when it is beyond anything they could imagine and their little mind is making a judgment of you—for my sake—when I belong to you—have been wedded to you for all time—

  I know even thinking of it seems silly—but how would you feel about that person?

  So, you see—that’s what I was trying to see all that time. It’s kind of like some idiot trying to take apart or pass judgment on the purest form of beauty—the purest—whatever its shape or content—but absolute perfection. I mean I know in a way that the idiot is made even more stupid—or ignorant—by even trying to question or take apart the pure beauty—like it even has the right to look at it—and that in itself should be enough to make it nothing—but at the same time, wouldn’t you just love to poke its eyes out for even daring to look upon pure perfection (which it can’t even perceive)?

  *

  Well, I hope I have made myself clear. You know of who I speak. Now maybe you understand.

  I always will.

  *

  I wish my travel thru my various states didn’t have to take a toll on you—but Damien, most of the time I am so ecstatic, I am so happy to have you—even when I am crying or confused, I am still happy to have you. You must know that and know that every little thing I conquer really does make me stronger and soon I won’t have to fight anymore—for I will have you in my arms. And I will rest.

  Yours forever,

  Lorri

  July 24, 1997