That week, after my bluster in biology class, I wrote you the first note. When you answered, I couldn’t believe it. You’d read my words and gave me some of yours.
When I left Dusty Hollow . . . when I left you . . .
The words stopped.
Then I realized a simple truth—writing to you was as much for me as it was for you.
I was scared to send you letters. I didn’t want to cause you more pain, but I wrote anyway. For me. And maybe now, they’re for you.
These are all of them in this box.
I know we can’t go back, but I can promise you that what I said was true when we climbed the water tower. There wasn’t a day you weren’t with me.
My words are yours.
My heart is yours.
Forever.
Hot Shot
I open the box and my breath hitches. Hundreds of folded notes are within. Thousands of words Milo wrote for me.
I grab for one of the smaller letters on top and unfold it. The paper is yellowed and the ink smudged.
Bookworm,
You’d hate this class. Physics is just scientific math, and I know how much you despise solving anything with numbers. But I still look for the back of your head, for your brown hair tinted red after summer. I hope for you to appear like magic, to turn around and smile at me. I hope you’re smiling now. At someone. At something. You deserve happiness.
Hot Shot
I reach for another, desperate for more of him.
Bookworm,
I miss you so much. I went to church today. It’s been a while, but there was something so familiar about sitting in a pew listening to the hymns I learned by your side. Everyone always wanted you at the piano. You do play so well, but do you know how beautiful your voice is? The way it ebbs and flows with the melody, soft and rich when you close your eyes, lost to the music. I could listen to you every day for a million lifetimes and never tire of your voice.
Hot Shot
The tears are staining the paper in my hands, leaving streaks down my face. My heart doesn’t ache. It feels ready. It feels open.
I lift another from the box, wiping my eyes before I read it.
Bookworm,
I love you. Even after all these years, I love you. I was such a fool to leave you, to allow these years to carve a canyon between us. You always talked about unrequited love—how it wassuch a tragedy in your books. I never really understood, but I understand now, and I am more than happy to love you long after my bones have turned to dust, no matter if you love me back. Some would say we were too young to know such love, but I know I was simply too young to understand the magnitude of it.
Hot Shot
I could read his words forever, his ink seeping into my soul, but it’s not just his words I want.
I want Milo.
He’s the only thing I’m sure about. He matters to me most.
And my dad said you hold tight to that, and the rest of life is just extra.
I laugh, the noise surprising my tears and causing them to halt.
