it's been two weeks without you and i still don't no why i'm writing these letters . they are meaningless, pointless, uneeded.
i guarantee at this moment your mother is throwing these away as she cries at the sight of your name appearing in your ever so abandoned letter box. i know you don't think she cared, but she did, more than you'll ever known.
i can see the sadness reflect in our eyes when we catch the eyes of one another.
she loved you.
she loved the idea of her little girl walking down the isle and having children.
maybe even with me.
i enjoyed that idea the most.
i wish every night that it was real.
wyatt
YOU ARE READING
unequivocal.
General Fictionnight and day our fears and dreams, different but equally as captivating. these our your letters you never got to read enda.
