“How much?” I ask the owner of the store, “That’s 25.” She says from behind the shop counter. “Hmm..” I say peeking inside it, It could use some cleaning, but after that it would be quite pretty. “I’ll buy it” I say walking up to the counter and setting it on the surface. After I’ve given her the money, I walk out the door making it ring. Cheerfully I walk home, happy with my new purchase. As I open the door to my house, my vision is suddenly filled with golden blonde hair. “Down! Down Gold!” I finally succeed to push her of of me, then proceed to take of my coat. My one year old golden retriever, Goldilocks. is already the size of a fully grown dog, and can almost topple me over. “Look Goldilocks! I found an awesome vintage handbag for only 25 bucks!” I say excitedly, I’ve always loved old things. But I’m pretty sure Goldilocks thinks I’m crazy. She then start’s whining at me with big puppy eyes. “Okay, okay.” I say laughing. “Dinner time for Goldie.” She follows me, and in an instant turns from puppy eyed sad dog, into a tail wagging happy dog. After I pour Goldilocks dinner I sit down on my couch to check out the handbag, the outside is red with gold threaded feathers and the inside is filled with green velvet and dust, I notice a pocket about the size of my hand on the left side of the bag almost concealed by the folds of velvet. I reach inside it feeling around, I gasp as my fingers close around a small letter, slowly I pull it out and bring it into the sunlight that is streaming through the window above. I can tell the letter is old for its corners are starting to yellow and the ink has faded into a dull gray, I read the name "Marissa” before turning it over and opening it, the seal is already broken so it must have been opened before. I slowly become lost in the words as my eyes roam over the paper,

My dearest Marissa, I write to you, hoping that you will receive this letter, and that it will not be lost at sea. I think of you and our children every day, from the moment I wake to the moment I go to sleep. Please do not worry about me I’m doing fine here, please tell the children to continue to make friends and to love their Mother as much as I do, and please tell them that my love for them and for you will live on forever for it is that powerful. I will be home as soon as I can. Lots of love, Tom. December 2nd 1935

December 1935?! That was like 85 years ago! It’s a miracle that it’s still here! “I have to go back!” I say standing up, “Goldie I’m going out again, you wanna come?” She barks in reply, so I put her leash and head out the door. I arrive at the store cheeks flushed from the cold, “Hi again!” I say to the owner of the store “I was wondering if you could tell me anything about the handbag I just bought, I found a letter in it that was supposedly from 1935, do you know who you got the handbag from? “Hmmm, I’ll look in the back and see if I can find anything about the previous owner.” She says, disappearing into the back room. She returns with a slip of paper in her hand, “I found their home address” she says handing me the paper, “I hope it helps!” I say thank you and walk home inspecting the paper on the way back, the address is on the edges of town at a retirement house coincidentally it’s the same one my grandma lives in.

The next day I drive to the retirement home. I ask the women at the desk if she had ever seen a handbag like this, she says no. I decide to go see Grandma Betsie and ask the same question. I ride the elevator up to the third floor and knock on room 108, “hello?” My Grandma says opening the door, “Hi Grandma Betsie!” I say gently hugging her, “how are you?” “Very well, thank you. How about you?” “I’m doing alright too, I was wondering if you’d ever seen this handbag…?” I say holding it up, I can see her eyes widen in surprise as she takes a closer look “why that’s my old handbag! I thought I had donated it!” “Wait, this was yours?! Was this letter yours too?” I say handing her the letter She takes it and turns it over then gasps “This is it!” She says excitedly “this is the letter Tom gave me!” “Tom? You mean grandpa Tom?” Grandpa Tom had died in the war when Mom was little. “Yes! This was the last letter he sent me.” Grandma says emotionally, “I had thought it lost. This is something I will hold dear to me forever.” Grandma says, a single tear rolling down her cheek.

Hi everybody hope you liked my story, I didn’t edit it so sorry if there’s miss-spells and stuff Please give me writing tips if you have any Or just comment anything I’d love to hear from you Thanks, Queen of ❤️s

Going to thrift stores became a fun tradition for sisters Alley and Lane.

(Their parents had a good laugh at their own creativity with their names.)

Every so often, they make time and meet up at a thrift store.

That’s where they are now. A thrift store out of town, browsing the clothes. Alley’s fingers brushes the contrasting fabrics. She plucks a hanger off the rack that had a cute blue sweater on it.

“Lane, what do you think?” Alley turns to her sister to find her now looking at her.

“What did you find?” She asks, going on her toes to glance over Lane’s shoulder. It is a nice purse, a deep red color.

“Isn’t this beautiful?” Lane says, spinning around to more easily show her. Alley nods with enthusiasm, her hair swishing at the movement. “Would it fit all of the stuff you dump into your bag?” She points out. Lane over prepares and has everything at her fingertips in case of an emergency.

“I think, let me see.” The zipper takes an extra tug before it glides open.

“What’s that?” Alley reaches into the black interior and pulls out a small piece of paper. She expects a receipt, but it is thicker than that. It unfolds into a much larger sized parchment.

Lane sees the first two words. “It’s a letter.”

Alley begins to read out loud. “November 4, 1944. Dear Viv, I can’t wait to see you. It’s been so long. I know that some may find what we share wrong, but how can something so joyful and enchanting be so wrong? Everything draws me to you. Your infectious laugh. Sunny outlook. The way you look at me like you truly see me. The real me. Soon we won’t have to hide and can be together. All of my love, Jamie.”

The sisters both become silent. These two people, Viv and Jamie, loved each other. They just got a glimpse of their live story.

“Alley, do you think they ended up together? This guy who wrote the letter to this woman?” Lane wonders aloud.

“I would like to think so.”

Obviously, she buys the purse and this mysterious love at a great discount.

When they got back to Lane’s apartment, they bring out the letter and examine it for any identifiers.

“There’s a full name here. We can look her up,” Alley points out, already taking out her phone.

“I found an obituary. Vivian Doring-Scott died five years ago at the age of 90. She passed away in her sleep,” she announces, her voice going flat.

It could have been possible for her to be alive, but sadly she has passed.

“Does it say anything about her life? About Jamie?” Lane probes further. Alley scans the rest of the obituary.

“Vivian and her partner, Jamie, got married twenty years ago when same sex marriage was legalized in Massachusetts.” Both girls’ mouths dropped as Alley revealed that Jamie was a woman. They assumed when reading the letter that she was a man, but parts of the letter makes more sense now.

“Vivian lived a full life. She leaves behind Jamie and their daughter. Vivian touched so many hearts as a nurse. If you have any stories of Vivian, we would love to hear them. Contact us at the email below.”

It sounded like Viv had an amazing, fulfilling life. Lane smiles as she sees the photo attached.

“We should email them. Ask if Jamie or their daughter wants the letter and the purse,” Lane suggests, her mind pretty much made up.

“Good idea.”

To: Jamie Doring Scott

Subject: Vivian Story

Hello Jamie,

First, we want to say we are sorry for your loss. Vivian was obviously a beautiful, kind soul. My name is Alley, and my sister, Lane, and I went to a thrift store and bought this beautiful red purse. We found a love letter which we found so heartfelt. Your love touched us both. If you would like the letter and purse, let us know your address and we’ll send it to you.

Sincerely, Alley and Lane

To: Alley

Subject: Thank You!

Dear Alley and Lane,

I was so touched that you reached out about the letter. Viv and I would send each other those letters all the time. There was so much against us. Society. Our parents. Everyone it felt like. But nothing was going to keep up apart. She wondered where that letter went, it was her favorite. If it wouldn’t be a hassle, I’ll leave my address and you can send it to me.

Also I would love to know the kind girls that are returning my letter.

With love, Jamie

PS. You can keep the purse. Viv absolutely hated it.

A hundred letters, with a hundred different promises. A hundred letters on fire.

Amari felt on fire to, as she tossed each letter into the burning pile of tin. Earlier that day when she bought the bag, she wished to find something unique to gift Lue for her eighteenth birthday. Not to find a life hidden in a tiny bag.

Each letter was a plea to a boy who’d never hear his lovers hidden words.

𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬.

𝘐𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐.

All b.s she knew wasn’t true. Amari was no expert in love. Her deadbeat father was only a name she knew, and all her last lovers showed their care in fistfuls. By the time she was eighteen, Amari experienced as much love as street rat. But she knew that no one could love someone endlessly. Not in the way that these letters made it seem.

“I’m doing you a favor” Amari said to no one, throwing the rest of the letters into the fire. Her fingers danced with adrenaline, thrumming to keep the letters close to her heart. “If she loved you, she would have sent them.”

Amari looked around the dark backyard of Lues house, where most except a few black out drunk teens slumped. She could almost picture the face of the woman who wrote the letters, glassy eyes filled with hope soon crushed. Good.

With one final poke at the fire, Amari slid back inside the house to grab another can of beer.

What she refused to acknowledge though, was the single letter she kept in the pocket of her jeans.

𝘋𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘰𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥.

𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦. 𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦. 𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯. 𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰.

You are in your favorite dimly lit thrift store, with that old familiar smell. Old books, purses, tattered winter jackets. You scan the shelves for a good book, yet nothing really peaks your interest. The bags aren’t really sticking out, you never really commit to purses anyhow. As you make your way toward the clothes when a jacket catches your vision. You normally wear neutrals these days, but you see a dark brown leather jacket. “Still kind of neutral”, you think to yourself. You slip the jacket on, and it feels like it was specifically tailored to fit your arms. You catch the price tag. $5.99. Seemingly destined, you keep the jacket on and make your way to the front of the store. You cash out, and you make your way out of the store. You live downtown, so it’s a short walk to your 3rd floor apartment. It’s fall, so the weather is kind of brisk, jacket stays on. You begin your two block walk home, and you reach your hands into the pockets of your new perfect leather jacket.

What’s in the pocket? As you reached in, your hand felt an envelope, tattered. You held the envelope, tracing all the lines where the envelope had been folded and unfolded. Tracing every outline. Those three flights up to your apartment feel like time was standing still. Inside of your apartment, you finally feel warmth hit your face. You shower, change into your oversized tshirt, and hang your new jacket on the hook. You climb into bed, and immediately you remember the envelope. You jump up out of bed, and you grab this envelope from the pocket. Plain, Manila, and old envelope. You turn it over, and written on the envelope, “V.”
“Vague — that’s what this is.” You open the envelope, there’s a letter inside. You open the letter, to find that this was written for someone. Someone that must have been loved.

“What number letter am I on now?” written in cursive at the top of the page.

“V, I woke up next to you this morning. And even though I knew better than to wake you, I don’t think I wanted to anyway. You looked … well, you look how I look when I think about you. At peace. You’ve been my rock for what seems like a life time. You quickly became such this beautiful hurricane in my life. It wasn’t long before I knew, and I was reminded everyday of the first time we ever met. This morning was my reminder. I held you until my last alarm went off, and I tucked you in, kissed your forehead and I came into this kitchen to tell you how much I love you without having to wake you. V, you are home to me. You’re the smell of my favorite candle that I only light on special occasions. You have this way you look at me, where the sun beats into your eyes in the perfect way. Your laugh, even after all these years, sends chills up my spine. Especially when you laugh at jokes I tell that aren’t even that funny. I wake up everyday with this warmth inside of me, and I like to believe it’s because of you. You don’t mind that I become over obsessed with one song and play that one song over and over again. You don’t laugh at me when I try to sing something and my pitch just isn’t right. I know that looking back, I should’ve known. I should’ve known you were going to change my life. And you did, you waltzed in on this giant balloon thing and you inhaled love into me in a way I’ve never known. It’s like one of those fairy takes, where everything you touch radiates joy and excitement for the future. I don’t wake up and want to die, because I finally have something worth living for.

I love you for all of these little moments, Yours, R.”

There’s a second page, and you realize this tone is different now.

“V, I’m sorry I couldn’t be there. I thought you might like this, the letter and the jacket. I miss you every fucking day. I’m thinking of you. I hope that if this ever reaches you, you know that I had love for you that knew no bounds. Love is a fickle thing. Whether you experience it for just a single moment, or for decades, there’s a point where you think “fuck. This one’s gonna hurt.” And I knew this was going to fucking hurt.” And it does. It fucking hurts. You put so much life into me, that now I hate knowing what life is like without you. There’s this gaping fucking hole where you took all these little pieces of me that you stitched together with perfect cups of coffee and the smell of amber and patchouli. Whatever. I hope you like the jacket, I got it from my grandmas estate, I think it might’ve been hers. She loved you, and she kept telling me to give it to you because I couldn’t just tell her that I broke us. Having to explain it still leaves this giant knot in my stomach. Feels like my hearts in my asshole. Fuck. I’m rambling again.

R.””

Well… I’m not V. And the amount of times this letter has been folded and unfolded and the envelope is hanging on by small threads, I guess that means that they did get the letter, and they missed you, too. An entire life of waiting, hoping, wondering… if that greatest love will ever come back into your arms again. Experiencing love is such a beautiful thing. It’s crazy to think that love can disappear or never exist at all, but yet… everything in life is done in love. It’s a matter of whether you open your eyes to the idea of love in every sense.

“What does love mean to me?” Love is a warm fire on a cold day. It’s the joy that reheating the same cup of coffee every hour brings you. Love, to me, coming home after a long day and sliding into warm, fresh sheets. Love is the smell of rain on a warm day, or the first snow fall of the season. Love to me is finally having a place to hang your jacket up. Love is a warm bath, and a long road trip with the best playlist. Love has intent. Love is knowing exactly when to leave a party you never wanted to come to in the first place. Love is finding that pair of jeans that you fit perfectly into every time. Love is afternoon naps with the sun coming through the windows. Love is feeling like you finally made it home.

My dearest, Angelica, I have completed the task you have giving me. The baron will not be heard from again, he’s been discarded of deep under the rolling hills of Chestnutshire as you requested, as is the groundskeeper who stumbled upon the scene. I do truly hope his inconvenience does not put you in harms way. I have decided it best that I don’t come in personal contact now that I’ve been revealed as the murderer of the baron. I apologize for my incompetence Angelica, for you of all people deserve better than I, I know we shall find eachother in another life. A more fortunate life, a life where our love may persevere, now that I have been discovered I fear my next life may come sooner than hoped. I have arranged for you to disappear and start anew, I am sure that this will be the best for you Angelica. I shall never forget you, for to forget you would be to forget myself.

                 My deepest regrets,
                                                  Thomasin.

Love of my life Don’t feel strife Your loving wife Always here each night

Itzél decided that the only consolation to a shitty week was a pre-loved treasure from her favorite second-hand shop. It’s a win-win. Her money will go to a good cause that’s benefitted the community; and she’ll have a buttery-soft sack of serotonin from one of the estates linked to that cause. The sounds of her steps were that of a woman on a mission. The stomps only got louder and faster with every passing thought.

She wouldn’t let that day ruin any more of her life. Did she find them? Yes. Did the reality of it hurt worse than whatever she’d hate-think any time her gut knew they were lying? Yes. Did the instant rage searing there during that moment feel both comforting and painful? YES. Did the tears burn her eyes so much that it hurt to shut them for hours after? …yes.

And when she screamed and lunged in, did she tear her favorite bag as she wielded it in a blacked out scorned charge? Also yes.

So, to hell with it. Love clearly is an irreparable bust—at least she can replace the fucking bag.

Little bells sang as the door swung open. The scent of beautiful lives gone past rushed her senses when she finally walked in. Itzél felt like she was supposed to be there. That there was a new addition in her life just waiting to be picked up to brighten her mood. It only took a few minutes rummaging around the shop. A bevy of beautiful rainbow folds on a cross-body bag caught her attention.

The design didn’t look like a repro, the quality was too good for that. It had to have been at least fifty years old. The patchwork was so beautiful—it was almost magical how it blended all together. The stitches could have been an optical illusion if not for feeling the soft decorative lines as she ran her fingers across them. She ignored the hand-written price tag dangling on the handle with twine. It didn’t matter. What it represented was priceless.

“Start new with me”, it said. And moments of sitting at parks and cafes, with the bag next to her as if cheering her on while writing line after line, just rushed in like a tide.

“Found you”, Itzél whispered—as if the final declaration was a spell.

Itzél marched to the cashier, didn’t even balk at the price, and just handed the cash over. Did she see a bemused smirk? Maybe. It felt more encouraging than anything. It’s just a bag, sure. But it’s the bag that’s carrying everything she needs onto a new adventure. She walked out and heard the door shut behind her with a jingle.

Unsure of what to do next, she gripped the bag tighter and just started walking back home. The impulsive rush was over and the mundane started to set back in. It was a calmer stride. She lived around the corner, but it felt longer with every weighted step. Her door was the post, the goal. It felt like a win when she finally reached it. After Itzél shut her door and felt the lock latch in, she sighed. Her mind started to nag her.

Just focus on the bag.

So, she did. She set it on the kitchen counter and started to prep it for the mementos of her life. The pens, journal and lost ambitions. As she dug through each crevice, she found a small zipper inside—on the bottom and to the side. It didn’t feel large enough to hold anything. Maybe a key. A key! Adventure. Another “maybe” and “what if” that could spur certain thoughts back elsewhere.

Itzél kept wriggling her fingers along it. The zipper was bigger than she thought. The bit first found was just exposed from the initial fumbling. Reaching her fingers around further, Itzél found that it ran along the entire bottom of the bag. It was sandwiched between thick material pretending to be the final lined interior. Something started to peak out when Itzél was unzipping it.

It wasn’t cloth, but paper. Paper with a large pressing of heavy and smudged crimson wax. It was hard to make out if it once had an image laid into it. Like a blurred dream.

Itzél finally pulled it out.

An envelope. She handled the find with care and examined it. No name. Thick with confessions, maybe. Itzél mused at the maybe. There was that rush again. The beautiful distracting pull. Carefully gliding her fingertips along the wax, she lifted it—trying to keep the pressing whole.

There were several yellowed pages of heavy paper folded into each other. A letter. She read the first paragraph and it ignited warmth. It was like a jolt of inspiration—to write, to research. This was a story. A story that could help her. It wasn’t hers, but that was the point.

Did her reality of love turn out to be a disasterous disappointment? Yes. And in spite of that, could the story of someone else’s love help the idea of it live on? Also yes. Like bottled hope. Whatever romance was in the life of the bag’s previous owner could help preserve the fantasy. A past-life encapsulating a beautiful idea.

They’re connected now, by that patchwork treasure. This person’s love could help keep those hopeful embers alive long enough to write about them. They could share the story. Their story. Maybe this letter, and the adventure that might come with it, could sustain the illusion of love longer than she ever could in her own life.

It would start here. Itzél knew it now. She could write about them as she researched them—and share in their secrets. In their love. Dreams of the parks and cafes came back with clearer context, and carried excitement with them. So she read the first words one more time, with feeling.

“My love, it’s time for life to begin”.

I walked into the store, looking around at everything. This place was so fancy and I had gotten a cupón to A La,Mode the store. That’s when I saw it. The bag was a cherry red with a silver handle. Cream colored pearls shone in the light. I looked at the price and practicly yelped happily but then quickly remembered I was in a fancy place. I had just enough to buy it!

As I walked out of the store my eyes shining with excitement a piece of paper slipped out of the bag. I picked it up and unfolded it. This is what it said.

Dearest Luccet

The love of my life I have to go away I wish I could stay with you but duty calls… And you know what happens when the king gets angry This is just how it will be Because your dating one of the kings soldiers But I will come back, I hope Anyways I must start packing Take care of the baby I love you so much!

Mateo

In the middle of a worn bag, in the middle of a worn bin in the middle of a worn charity store in the middle of a worn town, there was a letter. The letter D in fact. For dear. The bag was dark green, and worn by time. My old human, worn by time also, found our letter in the intention of checking the lining for holes.

Just to find a brave confession, Unread by my lovers eyes. Until now. The eyes of the old lover spill over and smile.

I left this note for you my love, my rain puddle, my feather. I’m sorry it finds you worn. Ah, if only I could have walked through time, Worn- with you. Alas. I will never age.

“Hey Chels, look over here!” Sabrina called me over to where she was standing. There was a rack of clothes and next to it, a basket of purses and bags.

Holding one up to me, Sabrina stood back analyzing how it looked from every angle. “I think this would go with your costume perfectly,” she said.

“Hmm. Maybe. It’s missing something… I don’t know.” I looked through the rest of the bags and didn’t really find one that clicked. I started walking around to other parts of the store. I was still looking for something else- something that would tie together my costume. I couldn’t put my finger on it. I swear, this used to come a lot more easily to me.

I’m planning on going to this costume party thing. I’ve been trying to get myself out and about with other people my age and I love dressing up, so why not? Well I can think of several reasons but I’m not gonna go there right now. I’ll convince myself not to go at all.

Usually I’d go all out for a costume but I’ve been really tired lately and I’m having some trouble drumming up my normal level of excitement. I kinda feel like the Scrooge of Halloween this year. But I finally decided that I’m going to be an old zombie Taylor Swift for my costume. I can’t take the credit- I saw someone dress their parents up as old-timer Taylor Swifts or something which inspired the idea. Not sure what inspired the zombie bit though. I think I saw Taylor do a zombie thing before. Idk. I like a couple of her songs but I don’t follow her or anything… so I hear and see bits and pieces of her on Instagram and stuff.

“Aha! This is the kind of thing I was looking for!” In my hands was a shirt saying “1989.” It was perfect. Now all I had to decide was whether I was going to bejewel it or glitter-ify it or something. I mean, that would really give Taylor vibes, right? …Honestly the icing on the cake would be finding cat earrings. But back to the handbag. Now that I had the 1989 shirt I had a better idea of what kind of bag would go with it. Maybe I’ll bejewel it, too!

I walked around the store again. Thinking I struck out, I was about to call Sabrina to see where she had gotten off to. I decided to try the basket with all those bags in it one more time. Maybe the perfect bag slipped my notice since I didn’t have a complete idea of what I was looking for at the time.

“No. Not this one. No. No…maybe? Eh, no,” I muttered to myself as I kneeled to the floor, reaching all the way into the bag. I felt like Mary Poppins. Giving up I put all the bags back into the basket, picked up the shirt and the cat earrings I had indeed found, and I was staring at the bag that I knew was the right fit for my outfit. It was a black tote bag with a bejeweled cat on it. But it was also stylish and cute somehow. Like it was a tote bag that had been leveled up a few times. I immediately grabbed it and headed toward the cashiers.

Sabrina was there perusing the candy and stuff. She loves Swedish Fish.

“Look what I found!” I said.

“The cat? Spot-on! I can’t believe you found one like that!”

“Honestly, neither can I. The costume’s probably not going to win me any awards, but at least people should be able to guess who I am.”

“For sure,” she replied. “Okay, let’s check-out. You might be okay being late to everything -“ I frowned at her. “Chill, chill I know you’re not really- but time-wise we gotta get going so we can get to the party on time…ish.”

Rolling my eyes, I set my stuff on the conveyor belt. When I put the handbag down, I noticed a piece of paper sticking out. I grabbed it, intending to read it then and there.

“Paper or plastic, ma’am?” The cashier asked.

“Uhm, make it paper, please.” I stuck the note on my back pocket to read it later and fiddle around on my purse to get out my credit card. I paid them we left, bags in tow. We put the bags in Sabrina’s car then hopped in ourselves.

As Sabrina started the car and got on the highway, I opened the piece of paper.

Andreas, my love,

I hope this note finds you well. I’ve been doing well, but I’ve been missing you.

Everything’s crazy here as it always is.

I hope you’ll come back soon.

You are my forever. I love you.

Awh. So cute! Also- so short. I would never be able to send such a short note- even if it was to Sabrina, asking her to get me a Diet Coke! How do people in love keep their letters so short? Ah, whatever.

“Hey Sabrina- check this out. I found this note in the handbag earlier! We should totally see if we can find the owner of this bag and the person she wrote this letter to!”

“Bet. That would be really cool. Hey can you read it out loud to me?”

I read it.

Then all of a sudden we weren’t on the highway anymore. Suddenly we were in the middle of a forest. Sabrina’s car was gone and all we had was the handbag and the note I had just read. Too stunned to speak, we looked around.

“We’re not on drugs, right Chels?”

“Pretty sure, Sab. I mean, two people can’t see the same thing on drugs or in a hallucination anyway…”

“So where. Are. We,” asked Sabrina.

“I have no freaking clue,” I said.