Written by Cleo Carelse
Proofread by Maverick Swartz
I was thinking about letters and how no one writes them anymore. A letter requires a pen and paper, long written with no abbreviations, raw and authentic with no autocorrections. The kind that gets delivered in your mailbox; with decorative stamps, happy birthday envelopes and “congratulations you’ve been accepted”, sealed with one stroke of the tongue.
Letters that require thought, and the precision of the hand as you sign, yours truly.
Simple letters,
Personal letters,
Meaningful letters,
Romantic letters,
Tragic letters.
It begins with one word, then you add another, until it becomes a sentence.
The sentence then becomes a paragraph of a story of (how much I miss you).
These days my words are shifting, trembled by my memories that goes bump in the night.
You do(n’t) owe me an explanation as to why you chose to move on,
You tore apart my paper heart and left me with nothing but a souvenir of deep cuts.
The callus that was left behind on my middle finger from gripping the pen too tight,
Scribbling vigorously across the page just to crumble it up,
All because you (left me alone).
I’ve never received a letter. I really wanted one.
I might get one someday
But waiting for it is like a blank page, being written with dried ink, never-ending.
What if by then, I don’t need it anymore.
No one writes letters like they use to.
No one writes letters like you do, anymore.
For years I’ve never touched a pen.
For months I pretended there was no anger, when there was.
For weeks I drowned my sorrows in your pain.
For days I tried to get you to remember me, but all you did was just sit there and smiled.
Oh, what I would give to read your letter one more time.
Things will work out in the end.
Even if it doesn’t feel that way for a while and it will never be okay, everything work’s out in the end, right?
Yours truly…
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