Writing Prompt

As my aunt and I drove into the quiet neighborhood of Evergreen Valley, I couldn’t help but focus on the greenery. It was a sharp contrast from the bustling streets of Detroit, Michigan. My aunt and her sister, my mom, used to live here before they moved to Michigan.

My aunt, Preston, glanced at the rearview mirror with her hazel eyes and noticed my furrowed brows, “You alright, Cass?”

My attention refocused at her. I adjusted my position and nodded, “Yeah.” Leaning back into my seat, I put in my earbuds and looked out the window.

The black car soon pulled to a stop on the driveway of a one-story, navy blue house. Aunt Preston got out of the car and I soon followed. I gently slammed the car door and opened the trunk, grabbing two small bags, mine and hers.

“Be a dear and get your parents’ bags? I wanna put them in the attic first before we do anything.” She pointed at a dusty box while struggling to hold her heavy bag.

I grabbed the box and opened the door just like a football player would tackle a training dummy. As I found my way towards the hallway, my arms put the box down, and reached for the string that lowered the attic ladders. I cautiously climbed up with the huge box since they looked old and ricketty.

My eyes gazed around the suprisingly clean space. Stepping onto the floor with my boots, I accidentally tripped on the box, causing its contents to spill over. I winced, picking it back up and grabbed some of the stuff. Before I could finish, something caught my eye.

It was an envelope that was covered in coffee stains. On the back, it read, ‘To my love, Verena, May 22, 1993’ in scrawled writing. Verena was my mom’s name. Curiously, I opened the letter carefully. My hands unfolded the creased paper and read it.

“Verena, the world isn’t safe anymore. They’re tracking me down and I hope I can make it in time. Be strong for Cassandra, I love you. Signed, Owen Robinson.”

Without a second thought, I dug through the box with my knees up. My inquisitive mind had to be fed with more information. When I was little, my aunt once told me that my dad died before I was born and no one knew why. Maybe this was the missing part of that mystery.

I found three more letters in the chronological order before May 22. Before I could study them further, I heard my aunt call, “Cass! Where are you? I need help getting the other ones down!”

My brows furrowed and I shoved the letters into my pocket. Climbing down the ladder, I heard a thud from outside. I rushed out, only to find that Aunt Preston dropped a box. My legs crouched down and helped her picking it up.

As I held the box, I carefully pulled out the letters, “Aunt Preston? What are these?” I handed them to her.

She turned around to look at me. Her face twisted into a quizzical expression, “Where did you… find those?” Her tone was almost wary, one that made my spine tingle. Did she know what happened to my dad?

“I found them in my folks’ box.” I started slowly. Aunt Preston nodded with shrunken pupils. I blinked and rushed into the house. I needed to know what she knew.

As I unpacked my clothes inside the box, my mind swirled with a bunch of questions. I glanced behind me, making sure Aunt Preston wasn’t there. My hands grabbed the wrinkly envelope, scanning the words, ‘To Owen, love Verena. December 1, 1991.’

“Happy Hanukkah, my love! Wish you could have been here for the first menorah lighting. Doctor says Cassandra is doing amazing. I’ve stored something in your lunch box. Love, Verena.”

My eyes widened. Soon as night fell, I snuck into the attic. I grabbed the box where my parents’ stuff was held and scourged through. I found my mother’s diary. ‘Keep out, Preston!’ it read. Stuffing it into my jacket, my eye caught a glimpse of a locket.

Holding it up, I snapped it open and there was a small, black and white photograph of my mom and my dad smiling while holding a baby. That was me.

I pull another cobweb covered box down from the shelf in the attic. Holding back a cough as the dust floats towards me and up my nose. I know it had to be in here somewhere.

I rifle through old drawings of mine from when to was a kid and elementary school report cards but still not finding what I’m looking for.

I reach the bottom of the box and find a bundle of letters, tied together with twine. I can see the top letter is made out to Harriet Johnson, my mom.

This is not what I’m looking for but honestly I don’t think finding my old class picture is worth the torture of sifting through the boxes in the attic anymore.

Closing up the box and admitting defeat I bring the bundle of letters down the rickety attic ladder with me and back to the my old room that I’m staying in over the holidays while visiting my mom while on college break. This will be the first Christmas todether since we lost Dad and I know how hard it must be for her to be alone.

Sitting down on the edge of my bed I take the first letter out of the stack and open it, finding tidy cursive script written in neat lines across the page. I scan down to the bottom and see that this was written by my dad. The sign off reads, “With Love, Steven”

I start at the top of the letter to read through the whole thing. This might be a nice surprise to bring to mom on Christmas to help her feel close to dad again.

I pause when I get to the line, “I met a woman in San Francisco Harriet. Her name is Audrey and we went out for dinner together twice now. She is beautiful with long curly red hair, she works at the firm with me. I think we will be pursuing our relationship further.”

That was that. He went on to start talking about mundane life and asking how mom is doing, as if he didn’t just drop that he was cheating. Or was he? Maybe mom and dad were friends before they started dating maybe they weren’t together yet.

I quickly opened the next letter and began scanning the page for any signs of their relationship status at this point in time. I check the date but I don’t honestly know the year my parents started dating and I’m a little too frantic right now to remember the year they got married. This next letter didn’t have much substance. Just talking about the books he’s reading and how his boss is being frustrating.

Tossing that letter to the side I open the next letter. About halfway down the page I start reading,“I miss you Harriet. I feel like we never get to see each other what with me traveling back and forth to San Francisco for work, but I want to assure you that I think about you all of the time. Especially like how you like to lick—“

I stop right there. I will not be reading my late father’s sex letters. I draw the line there. I skip over the next couple of paragraphs but on the next page something jumps out at me. I see the name Audrey again.

“When I’m here the only consolation is that I get to see Audrey. I talk about you to her all of the time. She is excited to meet you some day. I told her you’re not a fan of flying so she’ll have to come out and visit us. I think you’ll really like her. When I sleep at her place she has this cat named Simon that crawls into bed between is to keep us company. I think you’d really like Simon too.”

I set the letters down and let that sink in. My parents were together and my father was openly cheating on my mom with another woman. I start to back track through my whole life, thinking about my father’s regular business trips to his firm’s sister office in San Francisco. Was he living with a woman named Audrey the whole time? How long did this last? The questions start spiraling and I can’t make them stop.

I flip to a letter dated not long after I was born and scan the page for her name.

“How’s our sweet precious girl doing? I miss her so much. I’m so sorry I had to leave so soon but I’ll be home in a few days. While I’m here I’m showing Audry all of Kayla’s pictures. She thinks she looks just like you. She wants to come back out this way again soon so she can meet Kayla in person.”

I threw the rest of the letters to the ground. My breaths starting to come fast. This other woman knew who I was. My dad was cheating on my mother even after I was born and she was just okay with it? I could feel my heart breaking, my father had betrayed me from beyond the grave. The most loveable, kind, perfect man in the whole world couldn’t even keep it in his pants weeks after having a newborn daughter.

The bed I sat in started to feel too comfortable, I couldn’t be so comfortable and feel this much pain. I laid on the hardwood floor, feeling the hard planks cut into my shoulder blades. That felt more akin to the turmoil I was feeling inside. How could he do this to my mom? What else didn’t I know? How could he do this to ME?

I felt tears start flowing from my eyes and could feel the plunk as they fell to the ground next to my head.

This is how my mom finds me when she comes to tell me dinner is ready.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” She rushes in to the room. She grabs onto the desk to help lower her aging knees to the ground to be next to me.

I don’t know if I want to talk about this, but I also don’t want my mom to be worried about me.

“I found the letters dad wrote. I know he was a cheater.”

My mom runs her hand through my hair in the comforting way that only a mother can do.

“Kayla. Honey. Your dad didn’t cheat on me.”

My mom is still in denial. Even if he never had sex with her he mentioned they slept in the same bed together. She knew. It was in the letter. She must’ve read it.

My mom asks, “What years were those letter from? He used to always write me letters when he went away on business and more often than not he was back before the letters even got to me but they always felt so special to know he took the time to write them. I’m glad you found these.” She says starting to pick up the letter that are scattered around the room. She holds one up and starts reading it to herself. When she is done she clutched the letter to her chest. A single tear slides down her face and over the soft smile she has from remembering dad.

When I see she is done I answer her question, “I read a couple from right around when I was born” I am still sniffing and trying to hold back my tears.

“So that probably would have been Audrey he was talking about, right?”

“Yes…” I reply. Hoping she’ll give some more details to why she is acting so casually about this.

“Do you want me to explain? I don’t mind, but I need you to know this doesn’t change who your father was as a person or who I am.”

I don’t know if I like where this is going but I nod that I’d like to know more.

“Well, Audrey was your father’s first girlfriend after him and I got married. Lovely woman, I can’t quite remember why they broke up. I met her a few times throughout the years they were together.”

She looks down at me and smiles.

“Some people have a lot of love to give, honey. Just because he loved Audrey didn’t mean he loved you and I any less. Same goes for any other girlfriend he had over the years.”

I was shocked. “He had other girlfriends?”

“Yes, your father and I were not monogamous. We were each others primary relationships, we had a family and but we also dated outside of our marriage. Occasionally one of us even fell in love outside of our marriage, but we maintained our commitment to each other too. Our marriage and you always took priority for us. That’s why we never told you. We didn’t want you to feel different or like we didn’t care about the family we built together. Some people just have a lot of love to give.”

I took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Do you mind if I skip dinner tonight? I feel like that’s a lot to digest.” I ask mom politely.

“Of course honey, I’ll put the leftovers in the fridge for when you’re ready.”

That was a lot to process. My parents regularly cheated on each other. I guess I shouldn’t say they cheated if they knew about it, but what else could I think?

Loving someone should be a commitment between you and them, just the two of you.

I roll over on to my side on the ground and see a family picture of the three of us. All happy

Could it really be true? Could you have a happy committed family and still see other people? If I went my whole life not knowing and only knowing my family as the most caring loving family I knew did it really matter?

Could we all really have lots of love to give?

D⃨e⃨a⃨r⃨ L⃨o⃨g⃨a⃨n⃨. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5⃨-1⃨9⃨-2⃨0⃨0⃨2⃨

I⃨ c⃨a⃨n⃨ n⃨o⃨t⃨ t⃨h⃨i⃨n⃨k⃨ l⃨a⃨t⃨e⃨l⃨y⃨.⃨ T⃨h⃨e⃨ o⃨n⃨l⃨y⃨ t⃨h⃨i⃨n⃨g⃨ t⃨h⃨a⃨t⃨ i⃨s⃨ g⃨o⃨i⃨n⃨g⃨ t⃨h⃨r⃨o⃨u⃨g⃨h⃨ m⃨y⃨ h⃨e⃨a⃨d⃨ a⃨l⃨l⃨ d⃨a⃨y⃨ i⃨s⃨ y⃨o⃨u⃨.⃨ I⃨ m⃨i⃨s⃨s⃨ y⃨o⃨u⃨.⃨

𝗗𝗲𝗮𝗿 𝗞𝗲𝗻𝗮𝗱𝗶,. .. . . . . . . . . . . . 𝟱--𝟮𝟱--𝟮𝟬𝟬𝟮

𝗜 𝗰𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗶𝘁. 𝗢𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝘁𝘄𝗼 𝗺𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗵𝘀. 𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗶 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗽𝗶𝗰𝗸 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘂𝗽 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘄𝗲 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝗱𝗿𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿. 𝗜 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗸 𝗜 𝗺𝗶𝘀𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲. 𝗧𝗿𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗺𝗲.

D⃨e⃨a⃨r⃨ l⃨o⃨g⃨a⃨n⃨,⃨. . . . . . . . . . . . . 5⃨-2⃨9⃨-2⃨0⃨0⃨2⃨

N⃨o⃨p⃨e⃨.⃨ i⃨m⃨p⃨o⃨s⃨s⃨i⃨b⃨l⃨e⃨.⃨ I⃨ w⃨a⃨n⃨t⃨ t⃨o⃨ s⃨e⃨e⃨ y⃨o⃨u⃨ a⃨g⃨a⃨i⃨n⃨.⃨ S⃨o⃨m⃨e⃨t⃨i⃨m⃨e⃨s⃨ I⃨ h⃨a⃨t⃨e⃨ y⃨o⃨u⃨ f⃨o⃨r⃨ g⃨o⃨i⃨n⃨g⃨ a⃨w⃨a⃨y⃨ f⃨o⃨r⃨ t⃨h⃨e⃨ s⃨u⃨m⃨m⃨e⃨r⃨.⃨ B⃨u⃨t⃨ h⃨a⃨t⃨i⃨n⃨g⃨ y⃨o⃨u⃨ i⃨s⃨ j⃨u⃨s⃨t⃨ I⃨m⃨p⃨o⃨s⃨s⃨i⃨b⃨l⃨e⃨.

𝗗𝗲𝗮𝗿 𝗞𝗲𝗻𝗮𝗱𝗶, . . . . . . . . . . . 𝟲--𝟯--𝟮𝟬𝟬𝟮

𝗜 𝗮𝗺 𝘀𝗼𝗿𝗿𝘆. 𝗕𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗿𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗺𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗜 𝘀𝗮𝘆 𝗜 𝘄𝗶𝘀𝗵 𝗜 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗵𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝘆𝗼𝘂. 𝗔𝗻𝗱 𝗜 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘁𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗹𝗲𝘁 𝗚𝗼.

D⃨e⃨a⃨r⃨ l⃨o⃨g⃨a⃨n⃨.⃨ . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6⃨-⃨-⃨1⃨2⃨-⃨-⃨2⃨0⃨0⃨2⃨

I⃨ t⃨h⃨i⃨n⃨k⃨ i⃨ l⃨o⃨v⃨e⃨ y⃨o⃨u⃨.⃨ Y⃨o⃨u⃨ m⃨a⃨k⃨e⃨ m⃨e⃨ s⃨m⃨i⃨l⃨e⃨ l⃨i⃨k⃨e⃨ n⃨o⃨ o⃨n⃨e⃨ e⃨l⃨s⃨e⃨ c⃨a⃨n⃨.⃨ I⃨ t⃨h⃨i⃨n⃨k⃨ a⃨b⃨o⃨u⃨t⃨ y⃨o⃨u⃨ m⃨o⃨r⃨e⃨ t⃨h⃨a⃨n⃨ i⃨ s⃨h⃨o⃨u⃨l⃨d⃨.⃨ p⃨l⃨e⃨a⃨s⃨e⃨ d⃨o⃨n⃨t⃨ h⃨a⃨t⃨e⃨ m⃨e⃨,⃨ o⃨r⃨ a⃨t⃨ l⃨e⃨a⃨s⃨t⃨ w⃨r⃨i⃨t⃨e⃨ m⃨e⃨ b⃨a⃨c⃨k⃨.⃨

𝗗𝗲𝗮𝗿 𝗸𝗲𝗻𝗮𝗱𝗶, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 𝟲-𝟭𝟴-𝟮𝟬𝟬𝟮

𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘀𝗼 𝗯𝗲𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗶𝗳𝘂𝗹. 𝗜 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗳𝗹𝗮𝘄. 𝗪𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗜 𝗻𝗲𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝗼𝗸𝗮𝘆 𝗮𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻 𝗶 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗸 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘃𝗼𝗶𝗰𝗲. 𝗜 𝘄𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗵𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂. 𝗘𝘃𝗲𝗿. 𝗧𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗶𝘀𝗲.

D⃨e⃨a⃨r⃨ l⃨o⃨g⃨a⃨n⃨,⃨ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6⃨-2⃨7⃨-⃨2⃨0⃨0⃨2⃨

Y⃨o⃨u⃨ d⃨o⃨n⃨t⃨ k⃨n⃨o⃨w⃨ h⃨o⃨w⃨ m⃨u⃨c⃨h⃨ t⃨h⃨a⃨t⃨ m⃨e⃨a⃨n⃨s⃨.⃨ I⃨ w⃨a⃨s⃨ s⃨o⃨ s⃨c⃨a⃨r⃨e⃨d⃨.⃨ Y⃨o⃨u⃨ m⃨a⃨k⃨e⃨ m⃨e⃨ s⃨o⃨ h⃨a⃨p⃨p⃨y⃨.⃨ O⃨h⃨,⃨ l⃨o⃨g⃨a⃨n⃨.⃨w⃨h⃨a⃨t⃨ i⃨ w⃨o⃨u⃨l⃨d⃨ g⃨i⃨v⃨e⃨ t⃨o⃨ s⃨e⃨e⃨ y⃨o⃨u⃨ a⃨g⃨a⃨i⃨n⃨.⃨

𝗠𝘆 𝗞𝗲𝗻𝗮𝗱𝗶, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 𝟳-𝟮-𝟮𝟬𝟬𝟮

𝗜 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗶𝘀𝗲. 𝗜 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗯𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗯𝗲𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝗶𝘁. 𝗦𝗲𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗶𝗻 𝟭𝟯 𝗗𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝟴 𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀.

M⃨y⃨ L⃨o⃨g⃨a⃨n⃨,⃨

I⃨l⃨l⃨ b⃨e⃨ w⃨a⃨i⃨t⃨i⃨n⃨g⃨.⃨

↛♡↚

So this is love? I can tell there are pieces missing. Letters stored somewhere else. But that make each other so happy.

Not once do they talk about what needs to change. He doesn’t comment on her body. She never says he is too loud.

This is sort of pretty? It doesn’t seem hard or stressful. I hear footsteps outside the door and I immediately start to stuff the slips of paper back into the box. Before I can close the box the door opens. I should have gone faster instead of treating each paper like it was made of ice and would shatter.

My mom is in the doorway. She looks confused at first before she sees the box. But her reaction wasn’t what I thought it would be. She found me looking through her stuff. But she didn’t yell. She smiled softly and sat beside me.

“Those me and your dads old letters. I dont have all of them in there though. The less cute ones are in a file upstairs.”

I blinked up at her. Not knowing what to say. I was trill getting over the fact that she didn’t yell at me or punish me like he did. When he saw me looking in one of his drawers he yelled. A lot. And he made me walk home. It was only a few miles but it was iced out and I was wearing sneakers.

“Those were good days. That’s how you got your name you know? Once he wrote me saying he was going to marry me one day.” She smiled into her lap. “He said we would get a house together. And have a daughter named Zoe.”

She brought her eyes to mine. I smiled softly. Her eyes hand a sort of soft glimmer.

She showed me the rest where they talked more about school and there problems at the time. They had a few fights. But they never did something horrible. My dad always apologized and my mom always said she loved him even when he made mistakes.

I wanted this. I wanted to feel like our relationship was something magical and not something that put stress on me. I wanted to feel deserving of love. Not like I need to stay with him because he is the only one who ever would. But what if he didn’t love me at all. It didn’t feel like love.

But every time I tired to leave it went something like this.

“I think we need to break up.”

“No you don’t.”

“What?”

“You only want to break up because you think it will make it better But we both know it won’t”

“You’re right. I love you”

But not this time.

It was hard at first. Like a burning deep in my chest and stomach.

And then came the regret. Like maybe he was right. Like he is the only one who could ever love me and I just let him go.

And then came the peace. I was free. After the pain went away it was like someone turned all the lights on and I could see. See the abuse and hurt. And I was okay again. I didn’t think I would be at first. But I am. It’s like I have been drowning and someone just pulled me out of the water and wrapped a warm towel around me. But even with the towel around me, I still get cold sometimes.

And that’s okay. Because I am better now than I was before. Thank you mama for teaching me the difference between love and pain.

———♡——— ✍️ Just for funsies! Not a lot to say about this one!

Just think every once in a while how you feel. How he/she makes you feel in your mind, in your shoulders, chest, stomach. If it isn’t building you up, it might not be as good as you think it is.

I hope you guys are going good!

I love all of you a lot!

I really love your guys comments. Reading them makes me so so happy! If you don’t know what to comment:

What is your favorite book that you read last year?

That way I can get to know you! Because I do care.

I love you a lot!

I didn’t edit! But I never do! Please don’t have a tragic death while reading it!

✨🤍✨

I think this is romance? I dont know🫣

I always thought love was something amazing. Something that humans just always longed for and needed. I thought that if it was true love then people would do anything: even die. But I didn't realize how far people would go. How far they could go.

I have never met my parents. They died when I was just a baby. So I was raised by my dad's sister and it was fun, she was funny and loving and caring; her husband was alright I guess. On their 15th anniversary , Aunt Su and Uncle Nelson told me they were going to go out just themselves and they trusted that I was too old to have a babysitter. They shouldn't have trusted a teenager in the house alone but I am glad they did.

The moment they left.... Lights off. Speakers on. Volume max. And music on. I was perfectly content with this setting but as I slid down the hallway in my sweats, pretending to be some 90s rocker, I hit the wall and the ladder of the attic came crashing down, nearly missing me. I scream and jump away freezing at the site of it.

I was never allowed in the attic. I should not go up there. But my body seemed to be moving on its own.

As I made my way up the ladder, so many thoughts flooded my head. Threatening to explode. What was I going to find? I make my way through and stand up once I reach the top, only to find myself in an empty room. Mostly empty. A lone box sat in the middle of the room, which was surprising clean. I slowly and curiously approached the box and when I got to it I examined its exterior. Black with golden designs of no particular pattern.

My fingers trembled as I lifted the box although I did not know why. Inside were a bunch of old letters all adressed to the same place. I recognized my dad's handwriting immediately. Heartbeat racing, I read every letter.

"Dear Liz, I love you more than you can imagine..."

"Dear Liz, I would do anything for you. Anything..."

"Dear Liz, I hate to see you hurting like this..."

"Dear Liz, Why won't you let me help you....."

"Dear Liz, I killed her for you..."

I always thought love was something amazing. Something that humans just always longed for and needed. I thought that if it was true love then people would do anything: even die. But I didn't realize how far people would go. How far they could go. But now I understand.

Evangelina never believed in everlasting love.

She knew little of her father, a man her mother refused to talk about. And while she watched her friends parents live out their happily ever afters, she went home every night to a new man her mother thought might be the one.

None ever were.

So when Evangelina discovered a letter, discreetly tucked behind her fathers lone portrait, she didn’t hesitate to read it.

She knew her father was a soldier. It was evident by the uniform her wore in the picture, and the troops of soldiers marching behind him. His eyes squinted as he looked towards the camera hastily. Her mother was a blur, barely making the frame and her father seemed to stifle a laugh at that moment in time.

What was it worth, if two people in love could be so easily shattered by death.

She unfolded the note and began reading, careful not to wake her sleeping mother.

𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚍𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚗𝚘𝚠, 𝙹𝚞𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚗. 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚍, 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚙𝚎𝚛. 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚘𝚛 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎. 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚜 𝙸 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝙸𝚝’𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚑𝚜 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔. 𝙸 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚛, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚍𝚖𝚒𝚝. 𝙸𝚝’𝚜 𝚘𝚍𝚍, 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙸 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍. 𝙽𝚘𝚠 𝙸 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜, 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚍. 𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔, 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚏 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚊 𝚜𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛, 𝚘𝚛 𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛. 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚝𝚎, 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚛, 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝙸 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕. 𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗’𝚝 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎. 𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔, 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎. 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚠𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛.

𝙿.𝚂: 𝙼𝚛. 𝙵𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚍. 𝙷𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜, 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚎.

Evangelina put the letter down, suddenly aware of her damp cheeks. By the time this was written, he was likely gone.

And though Evangelina’s heart broke once again for her parents, she began understanding; life may not be everlasting, but love is. She could tell by the way her mother smiled at his portrait when she walked passed it. By the way she cried when reading the letter, thinking no one was watching. But Evangelina had. And now that she read it, her understanding of her mother grew much deeper.

Her love had never dwindled. Just shadowed by grief that no one helped her get over. And Evangelina would make sure her mother got the closure she needed for fifteen years.

Her heart is almost full but She feels only somewhat seen Her humor is met with silence His slights disguised as playful, are really mean

Common interests they enjoy but His last apology was never She’s always in the passenger seat Tiptoeing around his temper

Argumentative by necessity Her debate skills should win a prize But she’s lonely during the day
Yearning to be looked at in the eyes

I watch my mom and I wonder How I would cope if this were me? Your life is not the place to settle How’s she content to let this be?

I knew she wasn’t fully happy
So I’m surprised that I’m so sad That after some wine today she admitted That her soulmate’s not my dad

Hey babe,

Can you believe it's been four months already? Time really does fly, especially when you're having a blast. From endless talks to both laughter and tears, we've been through so much, and I wouldn't change a thing.

Remember how we started off as just friends? Yeah, that didn't last long. We're just too darn romantic for that, aren't we? Sure, we had our silly fights, but looking back, they were just speed bumps on the road to where we are now.

Things might not be as butterflies-in-the-stomach exciting as they were at the beginning, but you know what? I wouldn't trade the comfort and warmth we have now for anything. "I love you" might not have the same butterflies, but it has something better – a deep, comforting kind of love.

Life's got us busy, and we might not have as much time for each other lately, but my love for you hasn't changed a bit. I still miss you like crazy, and every "I love you" means the world to me. You're just as beautiful as ever, and I can't get enough of you. Like a fine wine, you get better with time.

Here's to us, babe. I love you and always will.

Forever yours, Ravi.

Dear Amy, I want you to know that I don’t have a crush on you. The flowers were to make you feel better since your sick. Sorry I’m not real good at writing. I had people say things and so I thought I should explain. Nick

Dear Nick, I loved the flowers. There is no need to explain anything. Let people talk. I know you’re just a kind person who cares about everyone. Thanks again, Sincerely, Amy

Dear Nick, Thanks for buying me coffee. I needed that especially, yesterday. You don’t know how much a kind action like that means. Sincerely, Amy

Dear Amy, I’m glad you liked the coffee. I thought you looked tired. Nick

Dear Amy, How are you doing emotionally? I thought there was something worse than just your sprained ankle bothering you. Nick

Dear Nick, Only the kindest hearts notice those things. And only the wisest ask about them. So many people ask me how I’m doing physically but so few ask how I’m doing emotionally. You were right. I’m not doing the best in that department. It’s just…. I feel a little embarrassed telling you. It’s so many things. My sister is happily married with two kids. I want that. And yesterday she had just been showing me pictures of their new house. It hit me hard. And Stan keeps showing obvious preference for Janessa and they both snub me. You know I’ve had a crush on him for ages. But I’m getting a little tired of how he treats me. It’s just so hard, Nick! I’m so depressed… Just Amy

Dear Amy, I’m sorry your not doing too good. I’m sorry Stan treats you that way. Some day he will see what a treasure he is pushing away. Nick

Dear Nick, Thanks for being a friend. No one else even offered to stay back from the party with me since I couldn’t go. You are one in a million. Amy

Dear Nick, I almost missed the card in the flowers. When I read it, I reread and read it again! Did you really mean it??? Is it really true?? Is it possible that you….. really love me? Surprised and happy, Amy

Dear Amy, I meant it every word. But you are so superior to me I thought I would never deserve you. I’ve always thought you were a precious, beautiful Angel and I’m just a scummy old human. I never thought to love you until… it just happened. I kept wanting to see your sweet smile every day. I love you. I mean it. Nick

Dear Nick, You are too good to be true. I never thought of you in terms of love. I’ve been so infatuated with Stan that my head has been in the clouds and I missed what was right in front of me. You are the best and dearest man I know. You are my ideal in every way. I admire and look up too and respect you more than anyone else. You know that! I always go to you for help, comfort, or advice! I would never in a million years have gone to Stan! I love you more than words can express! Your Amy

I put the letters away. The tears were wet on my face. No wonder my parents were so happy and in love. Then I pulled out a pen and paper, I had a letter to write.

Her name is Georgia and I love her. She’s in grade 10 and I’m in grade 12, but it doesn’t matter to me because I love her. My buddy says he likes older girls, but it wouldn’t matter to me if Georgia was in college or in grade 9. I love her. As a kid I never really understood love. Mom would tell dad she loved him and dad would say the same to her. But I never knew what they meant.

Now I know love is when you heart feels like it’s floating outside of your body. When you look at someone’s overwhelmingly glittering eyes and you can’t help but wear the biggest smile. When your stomach is twisting on the inside just by one single thought of their soft voice. Love is that feeling you get about a person when your mind or your eyes wanders to them. That feeling is what keeps me going in life.

But my parents love is different. I always wondered why it was never the same as anything I’ve seen before. I don’t know how, it’s just different.

Earlier this morning I saw a box in the attic of some old things stashed from my parents first apartment together. I found a couple notes and stashed them in my bag to read later. They are addressed to “My Lover.” I pull them out of my bag and hold the brown paper in my hands. Wow! These are my parents old love letters!

I began reading: “My Lover, I know you probably hate me. And I hate you too. But I still love you. No matter what happens, no matter how I feel about you, I will love you. I will fight for you. I will be there for you. I’ll always bring you flowers when your feeling low, and I’ll love you even when it’s hard to. So even though I hate you at this point in time, I’ll always love you. FOREVER AND ALWAYS, Your Lover”

I feel my face shrivel in confusion. What did I just read? How can you hate someone and love someone at the same time? How can you feel both love and hatred. Is love not merely the feeling? But then what is it?

I see my parents fight sometimes but they always make up with a hug or a kiss. Even when it looks like they hate each other they stay. Even without that feeling they find it in them to love. Maybe love is more than just a feeling. Maybe love is when you care for someone so much that you go out of your way to show them. And even when it’s hard to feel like your floating, or to smile in their presence, you still show them you care. Maybe that’s true love.

Her name is Georgia and I love her. Not because of the feeling, but because I care for her. And if tomorrow I don’t feel like showing her my care, I will anyways because I love her. I’ll send her flowers when she needs them, I’ll tell her jokes when she’s sad. I’ll do what’s hard because she’s worth it. Our love is forever and always. Your Lover

I knew I shouldn’t have been snooping. I could tell by the way my tummy felt. But I suppose curiosity got the better of me. I really only wanted to know what Santa had gotten me for Christmas, but instead wound up finding an orange shoe box full of photos papers and other stuff.

I didn’t think it was my or my sister’s gift but the photos initially caught my attention. As I kept rummaging, I started to read a letter with the word written in big red letters at the top: CHERRY.

The letter used some words I hadn’t heard before, and I was eager to find out what they meant. The thoughts and words and questions stewed in my head for a couple days, then I finally worked up the nerve to ask: “Mom, some kids at school were talking about pooping a cherry, what does that mean?”

My mom nearly spit her pork chop out laughing at my question, and I didn’t think it was funny at all.