Once upon a time, amidst the gentle embrace of rolling hills and flourishing meadows, there existed a quaint little town where dreams bloomed like wildflowers in the springtime breeze. In this picturesque haven, resided a young man named Thomas, whose heart danced to the rhythm of nature's melody, and whose aspirations soared like kites against the boundless sky. Thomas was a soldier, serving his country with honour and bravery. He had been deployed to a faraway land, leaving behind his family and loved ones. It had been months since he had seen his parents, his siblings, and his sweetheart, Emily. Every day, Thomas would anticipate with bated breath the arrival of a letter from home, yearning to embrace the familiar voices and to bask in the tender warmth of their affection conveyed through ink-stained pages. Those letters became his lifeline, weaving a delicate thread that tethered him to the life he had bid farewell to. And then, one evening, as the sun descended in a blaze of fiery colours, casting the world in a surreal glow, a letter arrived, carrying with it the whispers of home and the embrace of loved ones from afar. With trembling hands, Thomas delicately tore open the envelope, his heart pounding with anticipation as he unfolded the precious parchment within. As his eyes scanned the graceful curves of his mother's handwriting, a wave of emotion crashed over him, stirring the depths of his soul. Tears welled up, blurring the lines of the heartfelt message that spoke of love, longing, and an unyielding sense of pride. In her words, he found solace amidst the vast expanse of distance, as she painted a portrait of home with every stroke of her pen. She reminisced of the warmth of his presence, the echoes of his laughter that once filled the empty spaces of their abode, and confessed how each passing day felt incomplete without his familiar embrace. And amidst her words, a flicker of hope burned brightly – a candle lit in the darkness, a silent prayer whispered on his behalf, illuminating the path that would one day lead him back into her loving arms Thomas clung to every word, each syllable a lifeline to the world he had left behind. With each sentence, memories unfurled like delicate petals, saturating his senses with the essence of home. He could almost taste his mother's freshly baked apple pie, warm and fragrant from the oven; hear his father's jovial laughter echoing through the halls, a comforting melody that resonated deep within his soul; and feel the gentle pressure of Emily's hand intertwined with his own, a tangible reminder of love's enduring embrace. In the intimacy of those written words, he found solace and sanctuary, the letter becoming a cherished portal that transcended time and space, whisking him away to the familiar comforts of home, if only for a fleeting moment. In response, Thomas dipped his pen into the inkwell, each stroke a testament to the emotions swirling within him. With each word carefully crafted, he poured his soul onto the parchment, laying bare his innermost thoughts and feelings. In the gentle dance of his handwriting, he shared the tapestry of his experiences – the camaraderie forged in the crucible of conflict, the whispered confessions beneath starlit skies, and the resilience that blossomed amidst the chaos of war. He spoke of the breathtaking landscapes that stretched before him, each vista a painting etched in the memory of his heart, and the indomitable spirit of humanity that flickered like a beacon in the darkest of nights. And as he penned his hopes for the future, he painted a portrait of a world bathed in the golden light of possibility, where peace reigned supreme and love knew no boundaries. As days melted into weeks, and weeks into months, the passage of time became a blur, each moment merging seamlessly into the next like colours blending on an artist's palette. Each sunrise whispered of new beginnings, while every sunset whispered of endings, weaving a tapestry of memories that stretched across the canvas of our lives. Thomas continued to exchange letters with his family, each one bringing him closer to his loved ones, even though they were physically miles apart. The letters became a lifeline not only for Thomas but also for his family, who eagerly awaited news of his well-being and clung to the hope of his safe return As the war's echoes began to fade, a letter arrived that shimmered with the promise of a new dawn. It bore the name of Emily, Thomas's beloved, whose words danced across the page with an effervescence that mirrored the joy in her heart. With each sentence, her excitement leapt off the parchment, painting the air with hues of love and anticipation. Thomas's heart, heavy with the weight of separation, now soared on wings of elation as he absorbed the news of their engagement. In that moment, time stood still, and the distance between them melted away into nothingness. His longing for Emily's

Do you like multi-genre, friendship-themed, emotional, and passionate stories? Are you captured by lyrical, poetic, and cinematic writing? Is love for animals and all colors something you deeply care about, too? Then look no further! YA and mature readers, this is the place for you! SUBSCRIBE TO MY MAILING LIST This is from my new landing page. Check it out and, if you are not on my mailing list, please subscribe now! By subscribing to my newsletter and mailing list, you will receive free (e)books, updates, book release details, book reviews and other promotional material and related valuable information like interviews with other authors and artists, invitations to free webinars and much more. I never send spam and will never pass on your details. Don't forget, you can unsubscribe at any time. Thank you and welcome! BJ Original article: https://www.bernardjan.com/post/my-new-landing-page

How does society and or social media impact how teens today view food and our bodies? How do we block out the sound of the voices we don't recognize and how do we remain happy, positive or motivated? The truth is no one does. It's a motion of waves that coexist in our bodies, swaying from happiness to feeling the dread of the next morning. The dread of getting out of bed and facing simple tasks that feel impossible. Brushing your teeth, or making a cup of tea which should be an act of self care, or feeding yourself breakfast which is a necessity, yet the heavy feeling of guilt ways in. I don't know that my younger self was aware of how bad it could get, I wish I could have warned her that eating oatmeal every morning because she would someday read a post that encouraged it due to the simple fact that it would keep her stomach flat, when it already was, would bring her nothing but a mind that convinced her she was anything but wanted. Or that she'd read another post at the age of 12 that warded her away from coffee because someone told her it caused weight gain, I wish I could tell her to have not listened. She loved coffee, and she went without it for months to entertain the media's image of a ‘perfect' woman. She became afraid of her favorite foods, bagels became her enemy, she stopped drinking orange juice, she gave up iced teas from the grocery store, she gave up 3 meals. If she had a snack she wouldn't eat dinner. People noticed but they didn't say much, she was told she never ate. And, they were right. I didn't. Her anxiety came back stronger and stronger each day, her body begged her for the nutrition it craved. She didn't listen, she avoided the echoes of it's voice by blocking it out. Her heartbeat would ring out of rythme sometimes, that worried her. It resumed its normal pattern after awhile. My heart beat, I guess. Motivation came hard to me, I cried about simple tasks, they felt bigger and out of reach. I forced my body to work out daily, rest days were not an option. I didn't let them become an option. And then I'd stop working out all together, the overwhelming weight of guilt became too much. I stopped doing things I was passionate about, depression consumed my day to day. I didn't leave my bed for awhile, I didn't clean my room, or my body. I was a crippling leaf filled with water, another name that could be given is insecurity. Diets were my best friend, I wasn't. I didn't live, because I wasn't allowing my body to really be alive. I hear the echoes of my own words now, my own advice, and I seem to listen better than I used to. When my body tells me it's hungry, I listen. I don't have anxiety over pizza or pasta now, the reflection doesn't terrify me anymore, and even on the days I wish I was in a different form or body, i still tell myself the words my best friend would tell me “You are beautiful. Lovable, worthy.” “Take care of yourself like you'd take care of me” “Your internal bullies are lying, don't listen to them” I see the good in life again, because I've chosen to. I have many ambitions, passions, hobbies. I have amazing friends and family, I love them dearly. I have warm socks on my feet, gifted to me by my best friend after she found out I had a bad day. I have a cozy bed and blankets, and I have the ability to read my favorite books and brew my favorite flavor of tea, Peach. My music is playing calmly in the background of my life as I type this out, and I am reminded of the good things the universe has given me with its own bare hands. And then i'm reminded of what i've done for myself, and the blessing i've given myself, Permission. Permission to eat, and to enjoy it. Permission to love conversations with strangers, to workout so my body moves itself and for no other reason, to wear my favorite clothes, and to fall in love with life and myself. Happiness is not a consistent line, it's a wave with ups and downs, and I accept both. Because I accept myself in either form. But now I know on the days I feel like my bed is my home, I pick myself up the next day, and I grant myself a life I deserve living. Food still scares me sometimes, but I've learnt to push past the echoes of my internal torment, and replace it with loving affirmations. I am happy. Even during the dark times, life has its ways of reminding me that I'll find my way back. it feels good to be healed, or atleast on the path of healing. I am happy, and I truly do love my life. happiness and motivation ebb and flow, it is not consistent. I think somewhere along the way, humans lost sight of this fact, so that when the bad days arise, as they will, we don't know what to do with ourselves, when in all actuality, bad days are just proof of living, just as is breathing.

When there are so many problems in the world, let us not make things worse. And there are no preconditions for self-development here, to be honest, sometimes one wants to fall into a lethargic dream or constantly yawn (which is indecent in a civilized society) from these strange speeches, where people are trying to find motivation. What can be funnier and sadder at the same time, where a healthy person full of strength and energy, afraid of taking risks, making mistakes and winning, is trying to find non-existent instructions for his life? That's absurd. Do not search for what you already know in your heart. Slowing down and laziness are almost the most useless things in the world. At least, boring so precisely. Well, when we have figured out the nuances that will be discussed in this letter, or rather, these is not here — let's begins. P.S. You have to read out loud to put a point. How little time is given to us to think about it after all? Stop with your eyes covered, breathe fresh air and just think. Preferably about the past, because it's the only thing that defines you now. I think the connection between us was formed the first time we met. This woman, descended from the pages of her favorite Victorian novels, was exactly like the heroines at the English court. Intelligent enough, mysterious enough, known her own value. She wasn't a great beauty, but she didn't need it. She had much more — a bright, blinding light — the fire to life, which made me, young, reach out to him. “You have to reread what you've written out loud three times, and only then you have to put a dot.” “There must be a mystery in a woman that will give a man a field for imagination.” She was not just my teacher of literature, no, rather a spiritual mentor, brought up in me something that I thought I could not possess.I was always fascinated by her her dazzling love of language and literature. The way she could forget the time, telling a poem of her favorite poet in 3 languages or with rapture read an excerpt from “The Master and Margarita”. She wanted to bring her world to us and, unfortunately, not many of us were ready to accept it. It was the highest point of professionalism that everyone dreamed of achieving — to dissolve in what you do without fear of being misunderstood. If only you could attend one of her lessons, you would understand me. There is no better teacher in the whole world — that's my axiom. We didn't just read interesting stories about some characters, we lived a whole world woven from incredible crossroads, we immersed ourselves in the culture of that era and the country where the events took place, and we learned to think like those people, to understand their actions and to empathize with them. Everything that was going on in that office was like the entrance to Narnia: crazy magic.It was this woman who made me not just open up to something new and unknown, she made me believe that I could do it, she taught me to see things right and not be afraid to express my thoughts on paper, and I dare to think that what I was doing and writing, she liked it. The last time I saw her was at an event of some kind. She sat in the front rows, as always dressed up and beautiful. My best schoolteacher. How long has it been since... We didn't talk, but for 10 minutes I couldn't take my eyes off her, admitting and understanding that woman meant so much to me, so much that sometimes it got scary. The night I got my work, which was in her possession until she was fired from school, I was so terribly confused. I didn't know what to think. I was overcome by sadness at the thought that she didn't want to remember me or that I had unwittingly become a sad reminder of a job that was her whole life. I cried for an hour over those works, remembering in every detail the path I had taken. All those years trying to be her best student, imitating this woman, the greatest teacher, in a crazy race with time, I never understood what she had done for me. She saved me with these works for long-forgotten competitions. Even years later, reminding me who I am and what I really must do. Someone says that history should touch the reader, causing slight nausea and suffocation. It seems to be the same with people. At least that's what happened to me. Other people make us human. So look back and say “thank you” to that very person whenever you can. “How many words in the world and nonsense can't find the right 'thank you'. I am grateful for your faith and the crazy work you have done to show me the way to myself. Without knowing it, it was you who showed me what a determined look and an ever-burning heart means. I learned to fall in love with simple plots, reading the riddle between the lines, and to see the genius in a completely, at first glance, delusional phrases. As Heathcliff would say- “He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” With love, warm regards, forever your student”.

Dear Corona, I don't think you know this corona but in some ways you have helped me. You show me people who liked me for me. You helped me weed out all of my fake friends and people who didn't care about me. Best of all though you helped me get closer to my family. Yes, You did give me work over this break, made me stay home from school, and made most of my days boring and repeated, you also made me realise to enjoy this time with my family. You taught me how to try new things and get more hobbies. Because of you I am learning how to write short stories, how to draw better, how to dance and much more. Because of you I decided to plant sunflower seeds. So corona, thank you for doing this for me and I hope others can find the good that you are bringing us. Sincerely, Jomi

Dear You, I woke up this morning thinking about you. And it wasn't by choice, at least not by my conscious choice. I guess my brain likes to do these funny things where it takes everything that it knows about you, and everything that it knows about us, and it takes ahold of both of these things and choreographs an intricate dance, part reality and part fantasy. I have my pesky, vibrant cellular memories to thank for the way my brain was able to reimagine the actual feeling of your lips on mine, and my conscious visual memory to thank for the way I knew exactly how your brow furrows when tears start to creep into your eyes. To say I miss holding you by the waist and resting my head against your chest would be an understatement. Do you remember falling asleep together on the yellow couch in the guys' lounge? I remember that I was so sweaty and so uncomfortable in that tiny, 90 degree room with the broken AC, yet I wouldn't have left that moment for the world. Being close to you, being able to tuck into your body and smell the scent of your skin, that was all the security I needed. Do you remember falling asleep together that first night in chapel? That was the first time I saw you sleep. You always asked me why I didn't wake you up. How could I? You were so peaceful, so gentle, so vulnerable. That was before everything, before you kissed me and before we hugged, before I loved you, and before those beautiful blue eyes were mine. I never understood the blue eye craze till you. I don't know why I'm writing this letter. I thought maybe it would help get things out of my head, but this is all stuff you already know, and it's all things that I've thought so often that the thoughts are just all worn out. What I really need to say is, that every morning when I make my coffee, all I can think about is sitting with you at that dirty, Cheez-it-covered dining table, wearing your faded-black long sleeved NF shirt, each of us with our respective coffees–yours black, in a heavy mug, and mine iced with almond milk in a mason jar. I want to say that every time I drink out of my Hydroflask I wonder if yours is full, and if you're drinking from it, and if whoever filled it up made sure not to get any water drops on the outside of the bottle. I need to tell you that if you visited my school you might understand why I'm as crass and cynical as I am, and that you would really like my English teacher, and that all the girls here would be obsessed with you. I'm writing this because every child I see makes me cry, because you're the one that showed me how to love kids, and the image of Pearl's tiny fingers fitting perfectly into your palm along with mine is burned into my head. I'm telling you that I can't stay up at night because the nights were ours, and all I want is to lie down and stop thinking, but when sleep comes I dream, and I dream and wake and it's like I lose you all over again every single morning. I'm writing to tell you that my heart leaps every time you respond to the group chat, and breaks every time I open it, because you're fine, and you're not mine, and I think you might be forgetting me. I'm writing this letter to you because my love for you is so intense and bountiful that I don't think there's an end to it. You moved my heart in a way that I didn't think was possible. You helped me see the true, serious value in things, like the words that I say or the way I treat my body or the detrimental indifference that I used to hold towards all sorts of sins. Desensitized is a word you really like, so I'll tell you now: You helped me become sensitive again. Sensitive to others and myself and the world around me. Maybe that's why this hurts so much, because I let myself be vulnerable around you, and to reap any benefits of change you have to put up with the pain. Perhaps the main difference between us now is that I never try to forget, never want to pretend that it didn't happen. Because it did, and it was true, and it was real, at least on my part, so why should I try to convince myself otherwise? Last night I lay in bed and the invasive thoughts came, and instead of pushing them away or letting the heart-wrenchingly vivid ones run their course as per usual, for the first time, I bargained. I just wanted to remember what it was like when I was allowed to love you. Just for a second, I wanted to pretend that I was in that place again, where I could love you and call you mine. You have some growing up to do, and I want it for you, genuinely, but I'm terrified that your growing up will just translate into laughing louder and running faster and working harder and sleeping longer, but ultimately, forgetting sooner. I could write for days and days about every bit of you that my heart aches for, from every Walmart run, to every late-night walk, and every car ride in between, and maybe someday I will. But not now, and not here, because this is The Letter to the Boy I Love That I Will Not Send. To the stars and back, Me

Imagine two friends, one on Mars and one on Earth. A silent vacuum separates the two. How could they possibly keep their friendship from cooling off? The answer seems obvious. We now have the technology to send a message from one planet to another faster than it takes to roast a chicken. Online messages are instant and almost entirely free. Is the Internet then the best way of preserving long distance friendships? My friend does not live on Mars, but in a foreign country on Earth. We became friends at a language school in Spain, where people would hang out after class, have lunch and go to tapas bars. It was here that Lorenzo and I bonded. Conversation was fluid, laughs were plentiful. We were both students of philosophy, and it seemed to be the start of a long friendship. But after three weeks everything was interrupted. My time at the school was over, and I was leaving Spain. Would Lorenzo and I stay friends, or would our communication fizzle out across the seas and continents? The day before I left we met in the shadow of the great cathedral. As we stood there and talked we decided we would keep in touch. And we did, in a way. Thinking that instant messages were the easiest, and therefore the best way of staying connected, we started doing what most people do and tried to keep a steady stream of chat messages going. But the chat had a way of exhausting our communication. Our once interesting conversations became superficial. The messages lacked gravity, were carelessly typed and sprinkled with emoticons that somehow cheapened everything. In the end we grew weary of messaging each other. After a while I started wondering about the best way to preserve a long distance friendship. With today´s technology it should be a simple matter, even if one of us lived on Mars. After all, “staying in touch” is easier than ever. Where messages once travelled at the speed of horse hooves or pigeon wings, or even by the wheels of a motorcar, they now travel on the backs of electrons. But as my friendship with Lorenzo was fraying, I started wondering if it's not just a matter of staying in touch, but of how you stay in touch. I kept wondering how people did it in the past, when there was only paper and pen. This led me to an idea that felt hopelessly old fashioned and somewhat insane, but the more I thought about it, the more convincing it seemed. The idea was classical, yet radical, timeless, yet behind the times. The idea was to write letters. Of course I had my doubts about it. This was not a mere postcard with a few lines about my holiday. There would be whole pages in which I mused about some philosophical issue, wrote about life and asked Lorenzo to share what he wanted. I had never written quite this way to anyone before, and it made me feel vulnerable. Who did this sort of thing today? To my great surprise Lorenzo liked the idea. It took a month for the mailman to deliver his reply, but the long wait only increased the significance of the words. He wrote about feeling much more open and honest in a letter than on his phone, and it showed. Suddenly there was a fullness to our communication that had been absent online. There was no longer any limit to how deep or complex one could get. We started writing about the meaning of the alphabetic symbols. We wrote in depth about our lives. And somehow, what I had thought impossible was happening: despite the distance, our friendship was growing. In the past I would have thrown myself in the couch and typed a few lines on the phone with an emoticon or two. It was cheap and easy, and no proof that I valued the friendship more than that. The instant nature of it was an upside, but it paled in significance to sitting down at a desk, grabbing a pen and shutting off all distractions to write a thought out letter that would survive into the future as a testimony to our shared existence on this earth. Every time I sat down to write a letter I felt strangely present. I disappeared into a calm vortex, feeling very much “outside” the frantic rush of the day, connected only to my recipient. And the whole process of writing the letter and paying for its journey was a tangible proof of how one valued the friendship. Furthermore, the handwritten lines conveyed metainformation that the standardised digital fonts lacked. How straight, thin or ugly the letters are, how hard you press with the pen, all these things can show sadness or peace, stress or pedantry, almost like a body language of the pen. The Internet is very good for “staying in touch”. But when it comes to keeping friendships alive, a handwritten letter can offer the next best thing to meeting face to face. So how could a Martian stay friends with an Earthling? I believe handwritten letters would be an effective and down to earth solution, if only a mail service were to be established between the planets. Friendship must to be nourished by a sense of presence, even when we feel separated by millions of miles.

Dearest Winter, Howdy Winter boy! How farest thou? (Isn't that a swell Shakespearian greeting!) I hope you are in the best of your health and joyous 😊 I write today, Winter boy, to tell you that I fathom not how the pages of Rainbow Valley dawn upon me a joyful sorrow. But trust me, Winter boy, Rainbow Valley is the best novel on childhood that I've ever read. The Blythes made me blithe and the Merediths made me merry. Though the dear children of Anne have always cast a magical spell on me, in the pages of Rainbow Valley my heart went out to the Meredith children, Winter boy. The Meredith children lost their mother at Una's birth. And Mr John Meredith, their father was an absent-minded preacher. He was a remarkable preacher that the Glen had had in decades, but his children were so poorly cared for. Not that he didn't care, indeed he cared and loved them much, but as I mentioned earlier, he was very absent-minded to the present world, and most often lost himself to the pages of theological books. But despite their deepest depths, they belonged to the race that knew Joseph and was soon acquainted with the Blythes as dear chums. Now, Winter boy, you might wonder what moved my heart to each of these children. Well, that's what's coming for you in my further narration. These children were young and wild and free. Faith would ride pigs, Jerry would attend the Methodist prayer meeting when he was a Presbyterian, Carl would put an eel in old Mrs Carr's buggy, and Una, the timid one was wont to dreadful thoughts on stepmothers. But you know what, Winter dear, I found their naughtiness cute. It reminded me of when we were small children. I'll now narrate an episode for you. The Meredith girls were oblivious to the gossips around their shabby manse in the Glen until Mary Vance brought them the news. So, Faith and Una decided to clean their manse. And clean they did. But, Winter boy, these poor kids got messed up with the days, that instead of cleaning on Monday, as they'd thought, they cleaned on Sunday. This arose a sensation in the Glen church and brought a bad name to their father. Faith was ambitious to clear her father's disrepute. She decided that she would clear it the forthcoming Sunday when her father was away to a nearby town to deliver the sermon. That Sunday held strange awe for Faith. When Dr Cooper had concluded the sermon and the organist had brought forth the music of the anthem for the collection, Faith got up from her pew and went to the pulpit platform. Instead of speaking bravely as she had rehearsed, her throat went dry. It was Bertie Drew who saved the situation. Sitting in the front pew, he made a scorning face at Faith, whence her bravado returned mightily. She promptly made a dreadful face back at him and clearing her throat began thus: "I want to explain something. People are saying that Una and I stayed home last Sunday and cleaned house instead of going to Sunday School. Well, we did–but we didn't mean to. We got mixed up in the days of the week. It was all Elder Baxter's fault because he went and changed the prayer-meeting to Wednesday night and then we thought Thursday was Friday and so on till we thought Saturday was Sunday. Carl was laid up sick and so was Aunt Martha, so they couldn't put us right. We went to Sunday School in all that rain on Saturday and nobody came. And then we thought we'd clean house on Monday and stop old cats from talking about how dirty the manse was and we did. So, it isn't right for any of you to blame my father for this, because he was away and didn't know, and anyhow we thought it was Monday. He's just the best father that ever lived in the world and we love him with all our hearts." This was what she quoted, Winter dear. And I love Faith and her siblings ardently for their cute naughtiness. But you know what, these young children had to follow when Walter's old Piper played his music. Now I'll quote something that Jem said: “Oh, I wish we had the old days back again, I'd love to be a soldier–a great, triumphant general. I'd give everything to see a big battle.” Winter boy, I'm now strangely emotional. For Jem and the other boys were to be soldiers and were to see a greater battle than had ever been fought in the world. These lads who were to fight and perhaps fall on the fields were still roguish schoolboys with a fair life in prospect before them and these girls whose hearts were to be wrung were yet fair little maidens a-star with hopes and dreams. I now have no words to write further, Winter dear. For I'm unable to put a name to the weird feeling in my heart. Love you much. Write to me soon. I'm waiting eagerly. Take good care of your health. I'll make you a raspberry cake and a cream bun when you arrive this weekend. And, there's another charming thing about the Rainbow Valley, the children who remained alive, grew up to marry their childhood sweethearts, just like us ❤ With a kiss of love and a red rose, Your beloved.

I still can't wrap my head around the fact that after all these years, I somehow mustered up the courage to write this letter to you. I've never been the best at expressing my innermost feelings, and you know it. Yet, here I am, trying to put those feelings into words which I had buried deep inside my mind. Yesterday, I was going through my old photo albums and your face popped up. Memories rushed to me and hit me like waves. It felt like I was drowning in the ocean of our memories and yet, somehow I managed to stay afloat. How? Because you held my hand! Tight, and strong and never letting go! It was when I saw the plethora of our pictures that I realized, how much I missed those golden days when I would get back from school and rush straight into your waiting arms. How you would narrate the same stories to me with different plot twists, every time I demanded a bedtime story and how we would spend hours talking pointlessly. Yes baba, I remember it all. I know for a fact, that when you held me for the first time in your arms, you had your eyes wet with moisture and the first sentence you said was, "She is the first girl in our family after 38 years." Papa and Mom did give me vivid details. They told me how you would never let any soul raise their voice on me, even mom. I remember them telling me how I would spend hours with you, playing cards, teaching you new stuff or just ranting about my day. After your demise, when I got to read your diary which you carried everywhere, I noticed, almost every entry had my mention! That time I didn't realize the depth of your love for me, but now I do. And there isn't anything in the world which I wouldn't give to spend at least 10 minutes with you. Since you left me at a very tender age, there are a lot of things I wish I could tell you. I want to tell you how my teacher praised me for being active in the class. I want to make a complain of Mom cause she scolded me for not eating my vegetables today. I want to tell you about my first crush who broke my heart. All of it! And not just that, I also want you here with me. So bad... I want you to see me grow into a self dependent woman and praise me for my independent nature. I want you to see me graduate. I solemnly wish you were here to take me to my favorite park whenever I am feeling down and push me on the swings until I am laughing my heart out. But Alas, someone rightly said, 'The world is not a wish granting factory.' There are so many times when I wish I could hug you tight! I wish I could still come to you when mum cooked bottle guard and you would convince her to give me my favorite pickle. Talking about food, you know, I still love to eat that Garlic Chutney which we so fondly gobbled up every chance we got, no matter the amount of scolding we had to endure later. When you left me, I was too young to understand how messed up things actually were. I didn't realize that all the time which I spent with you, will now just be a part of my treasure box of memories. Bitter with the pain of losing you and sweet with the amount of fun we had. Yet, I could never relive them... No combination of 26 letter will even come close to expressing what I feel for you. You were an important element of my childhood. Even if our memories are a little hazy, blurry, and tainted with my childhood amnesia, I will always cherish them and keep them close to my heart. Every night when I look at the sky and whisper a shy good night, it's actually you I am talking to. Every time I pray to God and my wishes are fulfilled, I know it was you pulling some strings and convincing God to help your little angel. After all, your love for me knew no boundaries, right? You are even willing to negotiate with God, just to see me happy. And you know what baba? I won't cry! Why should I? When I know that you are right beside me right now. Caught ya! You're laughing at me as I struggle to pour my feelings onto this piece of paper. Now, you're smiling gently because I caught you red handed. See, I know you so well, don't I? I am your little princess, I will always know you inside out. However, you know a funny thing? I don't even remember the last time we talked or the last memory I had with you. Probably because at that time, I didn't know it was going to be the last... Had I known it was the last time I would ever get to see you, I would've hugged you a little tighter and held onto you a little longer. I know you are reading this letter baba. I just want you to know that I love you and I miss you. I know you are always watching over me from your comfy seat in heaven, and that's some sort of relief. I know I am not the brightest crayon in the packet, I have made mistakes. But I swear, I am working on correcting them. I hope I grow up to be the grand daughter you wanted me to be. I want you to be proud of me. That's enough for me! This is not goodbye Baba. It's just farewell, until we meet again... In a better place... Your Grand Daughter Shreya

Why is it you hide? Surely you didn't believe that you'd slide without saying your goodbyes? “To what?” you might ask; to all that you have so forcefully coursed into the darkest depths of your being. Those goodbyes. And I'd favor in making the conclusion that, well, you've never really tried. But unfortunately you're obliged— If you ever truly want to make it out alive. Because there are only so many lies able to be told until your soul is crying out, “behold, I'm terribly cold and frankly, all alone.” Heed my warn, you will make yourself known continuing on the path with that pathetic show. I can assure. Because I'm the one with the front row view and the behind the scenes news in the life of, well, you. I'm stumped on the fact how someone such as your own could manage to stoop so low. Fooled to the point of delusion; Foolishly bamboozled. So proudly reigning over the phrase, “The only way is up.” It's a painful sight for me to see—you dreadfully foreshadowing that what you believe to be, is in fact, the key. But I'm afraid it's not. That place you call up isn't really up. It's down. And each time you kid yourself not, you're only digging yourself further into the ground. So why not prowl it all out now? 'Cause if you keep pretending that nothing's ever gone south, you'll fall of the map. Best put on your big boy pants to save your ass; I hate to be so crass. But I can promise you that no one else will go digging unless it's for gold and theirs to own. We can agree to disagree. Although, I'm sure you already know, that you're the only one who knows what's really been lurking beneath your surface and that it's surely not gold—yet. Maybe fools. But the part you've continued to leave out to yourself is the biggest Easter egg in this game we call life. And if it's a game of hot and cold you're freezing right now; secretly hauling to be thawed. “How can this be reversed, this curse?” You ask. Well, it's as simple as in the fact that you must to do the work. And eventually you will realize what you thought to be of the dammed, was your blessing in disguise and, in fact, the most magnificent of them all. But it's your call. Think it through before you chew 'cause it's a hard pill to swallow and there are more than a few. But I promise you that soon you will wallow in a muncher victorious tune. You see, all of the riches you search for have been with you since long before. It just so happens that some appear roughed out and others bling at first sight. Some you'll have to tend more than the rest but each holds a part of you that can't be bought and worth a ton. So, I beg of you, halt the blues and carefully attune because in this matter, I cannot afford to be misconstrued. You are what shines brightest when being unapologetically you. That's the truest of true. Bask in your worth and the rest will follow. I'll leave you to it, to meet yourself and find each and every hidden pearl that makes you, the youest of you. And you will soon come to realize that it never really was about tomorrow; only a role that was unwittingly presumed. So, Riddle me this: How much longer will you cower at your power to make anew? Sincerely, Your Helper from above.

I had completely submitted myself to my fate: that of hopeless, endless mundanity. Maybe I might've been sad thinking about it at some point in time; I remember ninth and tenth grade being particularly bad times. I was struggling with depression while reconciling with the loss of my grandmother and the grief that our family was dealing with in its aftermath. I saw my parents talk about finances and felt the financial insecurity seeping into my poor self-worth and I couldn't shirk off the feeling that I was a burden on them. It was painful having to live with myself. Since it was an academically testing time as well, I'd get into fights about my career with my parents often. I don't know why I blamed myself so much for anything that my family went through, but somehow, I'd trace it all back to me. I hated myself. I didn't want myself, and so I couldn't imagine anyone else wanting me either. Now that I see you struggling with your own self-esteem, with the cognizance of my love for you, I can imagine how losing me wouldn't just have been guilt-evoking for my parents. It would have been devastating. Now, because of you, I see the damage I could've done by robbing my loved ones the chance of loving me if I had actually given into my self-sabotage impulses a couple of years back. Because now I know what it means to have the privilege to love someone- unconditionally. You have an interesting name. Like, so simple and common, but it weirdly fits in with your persona. Simple, with unexplored depths and complexities. I swear I don't mean to romanticize you, and I didn't mean to oversimplify you. I don't think that's possible for anyone, especially not you. You confound me. Excite me. Calm me. Inspire me. You are everything I've ever wanted but didn't have the guts to ask the Universe for. Guess, the Universe is also too kind, like you. I'm not delusional about the downs of the path ahead of us. Or the possibility of reality hitting in sometime. In fact, I'd much rather go through shit with you than bliss with anyone else. When you're away, I get terrified sometimes, worrying about you. I'll admit, I think of some grim scenarios. I have considered asking you your blood type casually in a conversation, just so in the most unfortunate of scenarios, I'm not a mere spectator to losing the most important person in my life. I'm a terrible person for thinking of things like that, too. Oh, but I love you just so much. I really mean it when I ask you to eat and sleep well. I hope you're taking care of your fruit intake. 9 out of the 10 times, talking to you, listening to you, hearing you laugh, admiring you in all your aliveness, is the highlight of my day. You've not only uplifted my standards for another person by being you, but you've also redefined what my happiest space looks like. You are so special to me. Even though I tell you that its an objective for me to have you believe it, I still don't think words or my limited articulation skills will ever be good enough to allow you to understand and experience just what you mean to me. I'll keep trying nevertheless. This reminds me that I have an entire folder of quotes on my computer, titled in your name with the choicest of quotes that remind me of you, or ones that I'd address to you. Then, obviously, there's stuff about you in my diary. And then there's every single thing that I conjure about you every day. With every passing moment, I get more and more sure about you. About your perfection. About us. I still don't want to hustle, except I only want us to not hustle together. I still would like things to go slow, except I'd like to do them slowly- with you. For every time I've denied wanting or needing, I want you. So bad. A year without you and the years preceding you were enough for me to know that I want to be selfish this one time and exclaim that I need you, unabashedly. You are my best friend, my favorite confidant, the only person who syncs with my weird overtures, who puts up with all of the things that I throw up on you (literally also). You are the best part of my life, and without you, I'm lost. Without you, I'm forgotten by my own self. I've always chastised people who focus too much on superficial or physical qualities. However, even my most rational side can't deny that there is an unexplained attraction that I feel towards you. It's like my inner peace is manifested in my body in the physical comfort that I feel when I'm with you. It's novel and magical. Like, I want to be absolved within you. Completely surrounded by you and only you. Feel you around me wherever I go and then feel you after you leave. I never want to be without you, ever. As I said, you're my home. And it feels like I've been looking for you all my life.

I didn't mean to Say the things I did To reject the love you gave I didn't have the strength To try again that day I didn't mean to Take the "easy" way out You see it never has been I feel things many can't grasp Only to carry them deep with- in I didn't mean to Make you worry about me I've tried to carry on Waking each day with reminders That it's only me who's wrong I didn't mean to Leave you feeling guilty For not trying harder to understand I'd hoped to conquer this demon Who's gripped me in his hand I didn't mean to Make you weep with sorrow But I leave you with this promise I will cherish your love and forgiveness When I see you again and kiss - you.

Dear Meigs, It's October here now, and grandmother doesn't seem to be getting any better. Just last night, Dr. Blake tried to calm her down after another episode, but this time it was worse than the last. When we finally got her to drink her medicine, and all of us had gotten back into bed, it was three in the morning already. Dr. Blake doesn't seem to think the medicine is doing any good, the memories just seem to come back more vividly with every passing day. In the middle of the night yesterday, I found grandmother near the old Willow tree in nothing more than a thin nightdress in the cold moonlight. When I tried to usher her back to the house, she grabbed hold of my hand and store, intently into my eyes only to say, “Abia?”.Her sister passed away years ago and she always calls me Abia whenever I near her. The resemblance must be startling. Today, I decided to go back to the building that affected her so much. The school was huge with all these crosses on the walls. As I walked through the school halls, I could see images and files of writing scattered everywhere. I don't think anyone has been here for a while, it seems to be abandoned. Almost like everyone's forgotten all about it. When I picked up a file, I realized it was a record of names of all the children who had gone to the school. There were pages and pages and some of the files even had pictures of the children as well. It broke my heart to see all the pictures of young children - there were so many of them that I didn't even bother to count. I even saw grandmother in one of the pictures. It seemed she was stripped of her clothing and her hair was shaved so close to her head that I almost hadn't recognized her. She always went on about them, they were a gift from her father. Can you imagine never being able to see our Pa again? Poor grandmother. I remembered grandmother telling me years ago of a story of a young boy she knew in that school who had hung himself in the gym. She cried as she told me that the nuns and priests had gathered them all up and brought them into the gym to show them the scene. The worst part was that they had just left him hanging there, almost as if that was supposed to be a lesson they were supposed to teach grandmother and the other children! God forbid showing something like that to an 8-year-old! Can you imagine walking by a dead, rotten corpse every day, fearful that you might turn out the same? Not to mention the smell that would have arisen, it would have been enough to drive anyone insane! I shouldn't tell you this, but Dr. Blake visits grandmother almost every day now; her condition just seems to be getting worse. Last week, around 2 in the morning, I couldn't fall asleep. That exact morning, grandmother had gone back to the school. I followed her. She had run to the forest next to the school and seemed to be digging into the ground some 30 feet away from the school. The entire time she was crying and her hands and dress were covered in dirt - but she kept digging. I didn't know what to do and hadn't wanted to approach her for fear that she might have mistaken me for someone else and would have run away. I ran back to the house to call Dr. Blake and he immediately came over and brought grandmother back to the house and had me clean her up. When I later raised concerns over it, Dr. Blake informed me that when grandmother had been 12, her brother, Ziibi - who was 6 at the time - had passed away due to starvation after trying to escape from the school. When they found him, they dragged him back and kept him in one of the schools attics until he had eventually died there. When grandmother found out that her brother was dead, she dragged his body to the same spot where I found her last week and buried him there. No one seems to have ever found out about it. That must have really scarred grandmother. Dr. Blake told me that she goes there every night, yet this is the first time she had tried to dig his body back out. I asked why her brother had tried to run away and Dr. Blake told me that the staff at the school had been hitting him. He showed me pictures - there were these huge gashly scars on both his back and thighs. This was only because he couldn't speak and behave as well as the other children of his year. What terrible times - I'm glad we weren't around during that age. I'm terrified for grandmother, I don't think she will get any better, she just seems to be getting worse. Dr. Blake is trying to convince me to go back home to you and pa, but I told him I wanted to stay here in case anything were to happen. I'm keeping a close eye on her, yet am still terribly worried. I feel so lonely these days and grandmother's condition does not help. The neighbors tell me to pray, and hopefully, she will get better, but they know she won't get any better. I can see it in their chief's eyes, the scars are too deep for that. I just can't imagine our lives without grandmother. Could you? Aniya

To Marques. I'm gonna say the most disgusting thing you've ever heard. I like you. I've always liked you i just made sure that it was low-key. Since we're obviously so much better as friends. But I don't want to be your friend, i mean I do. I just thought that I was gonna able to become better friends with you. Back when we first started talking. I thought you were kinda on my side, I was going through a lot, and I still am but I was happy to have a person to talk to. You didn't seem to judge me. To Marques. I don't know why everyone keeps saying I'm in love with you cause I don't think that's the case. I do, feel attracted to you though. Since at the time i looked at you as a younger brother you were someone close to me in my friend group that I could trust. You kinda just listened, which I needed at the time. You also stared a lot. It was creepy.. But it felt like you were really looking at me and I mean, you have beautiful childish intellectual eyes. You're definitely not brain dead but you act like it. You'll probably never see this but, I kinda just wanted to apologize on paper. I'm so much more fluent when I'm writing out my feelings, and this is something I thought was necessary to get out. I'm sorry, for hurting you. Not physically but you know. I, truly considered you someone close in my friend group. Someone i could trust since I don't really trust people. But I've lost that, I've lost you and I wish I hadn't because you were one of the greater things that came out of me transferring, and I love you and, I love you, a lot. And I'm totally disgusting so I don't blame you for like getting rid of me, I'd do the same. I'm sorry for my clingy personality, affection only runs through me in my house so I usually pass it in to those dearest to me. I'm sorry I wasn't a better associate to you, I'm really the worst. And you know I kinda wish that I was aware of my physical attraction to you. I felt something I just, couldn't gravitate it then like I can now. I wish I told you sooner.. The day we went on winter break last year would have been a perfect time and day. Funny, that same night I actually died! Um. I stopped breathing. My soul kinda slipped out, oops! Haha.. I guess I did kinda go somewhere.. But with all this going on now I really just want to talk and verbally communicate with you. I miss you, a lot. And because we aren't, knowingly close I don't know. I missed my chance which sucks, but i love you. Like, legit love and care. This is my closure to you because I wasn't satisfied with the one you gave me. You don't have to respond, you don't have to look my way. You can burn this afterwards if you want too. But this is my closure, and I truly wish you nothing but happiness and the best in your future. To Marques. I'm so.. engrossed by you. And I, have had these feelings for you since.. 9th grade. They became stronger last year. I didn't tell you because, look. Look at how we are now. I love you. No i like you.. I'm so in love, with the thought that I'm in love with you. I'm in love with you.

Dear future me, Although life hasn't offered the most clarity, you've come a long ways. You've learned to let go of fear and embrace beauty and pain for what life is. As beautiful yet terrifying as it is right now for me and was back then for you, you've yet still managed to have an abundance of love within your heart to give to everyone. I am certain that this quality of you and me will always remain. You have a heart too big for your body. You ride the waves of life with such ease now. Sometimes, it makes me want to catch up to you faster because often times, when I hit a tide, I seem to crash. I know that my life in the moment is a web of tangled and intricate experiences and emotions that have helped mold me into you. Trust me, I am working every single day to make myself better for you. You're “old enough to know better but young enough to do it anyway.” So, laugh about all the silly mistakes I'm making at the moment and be grateful for that because it lead you to be who you are right now.