Status: slowly but surely
Dear Emma
6 / 10 / 2008
Dear Emma,
This should hopefully be the first of many letters I shall send you. I find writing quite therapeutic, and I'm sorry if my cursive is a bit hard to read at times. It is necessary that you don't find out who I am, so please don't go looking. It also why I have left off my name and a return address. It would be dreadful if you found out who I was before the time came that you were ready to find out such things. This will be in a few years' time.
If you have noticed, I have written a date on the envelope now, if it is past this date or not, please keep in mind that for future letters from me - they will all be marked in the same way - not to open them until that date. Things could go horribly wrong otherwise, and I can't always time the postal service exactly - it is near impossible.
Anyway, on to the good stuff. Today was my sixteenth birthday. Not much happened. I invited my boyfriend over for dinner with my family, and earlier in the day I went out with my friends. They shouted me a milkshake from Boost, and we then headed out to the beach to dip our toes in the water. It was so hot today! Almost forty degrees. I saw the cutest starfish in the rock pools though. There were dozens of tiny fish too, darting about, waiting for the next wave to carry them out to the sea. I felt sorry for the poor things, I really did. Imagine being swept up and dumped somewhere, waiting for something to set you free, anything, and it isn't even a guarantee.
I should let you continue on with your life now.
It was the first letter I received of many. I came to like this mysterious friend of mine, with his, or hers, quirky little tales and hot headed opinions. I came to care for them, such as one would for a sister or a brother. They infuriated me at times, while at others I laughed and simply enjoyed their written presence, the ink fading as the years passed. I stored the letters in a box, kept on top of my wardrobe, for my eyes only.
This is their tale, written from pen to paper, sent who knows how many kilometers, to the doorstep of a regular girl. I intend to share it. As it is one in a million.
This should hopefully be the first of many letters I shall send you. I find writing quite therapeutic, and I'm sorry if my cursive is a bit hard to read at times. It is necessary that you don't find out who I am, so please don't go looking. It also why I have left off my name and a return address. It would be dreadful if you found out who I was before the time came that you were ready to find out such things. This will be in a few years' time.
If you have noticed, I have written a date on the envelope now, if it is past this date or not, please keep in mind that for future letters from me - they will all be marked in the same way - not to open them until that date. Things could go horribly wrong otherwise, and I can't always time the postal service exactly - it is near impossible.
Anyway, on to the good stuff. Today was my sixteenth birthday. Not much happened. I invited my boyfriend over for dinner with my family, and earlier in the day I went out with my friends. They shouted me a milkshake from Boost, and we then headed out to the beach to dip our toes in the water. It was so hot today! Almost forty degrees. I saw the cutest starfish in the rock pools though. There were dozens of tiny fish too, darting about, waiting for the next wave to carry them out to the sea. I felt sorry for the poor things, I really did. Imagine being swept up and dumped somewhere, waiting for something to set you free, anything, and it isn't even a guarantee.
I should let you continue on with your life now.
- A friend.
xx
xx
It was the first letter I received of many. I came to like this mysterious friend of mine, with his, or hers, quirky little tales and hot headed opinions. I came to care for them, such as one would for a sister or a brother. They infuriated me at times, while at others I laughed and simply enjoyed their written presence, the ink fading as the years passed. I stored the letters in a box, kept on top of my wardrobe, for my eyes only.
This is their tale, written from pen to paper, sent who knows how many kilometers, to the doorstep of a regular girl. I intend to share it. As it is one in a million.