Letters
You know, I can still remember the first time that we kissed. The pen hadn’t yet completed the last word before the page was ripped from the spine of the journal and crumpled. She leaned back in her desk chair and tossed the paper into the basket; the imperfect ball circling its rim before sliding inside. She sat back and placed the pen to paper again. I hope you know that all I’ve ever wanted was for you to be happy. Again the page was torn from its home and transformed into a paper ball. She threw the ball over her shoulder, unconcerned this time with where it fell. Normally her writing wouldn’t have been a problem. She had written him hundreds of letters in the past, each one conveying the exact thought and emotion that she had been overcome with at the time. Tonight, however, the words weren’t coming to her - -at least not the appropriate words. Her mind had become overwhelmed with concerns about what had come to light in the previous days and yet sh
