Dearest V,
I went out with someone today. She's an artist, drop dead gorgeous, has a tattoo on her arm, half French and makes good brownies. You should have seen the look on everyone's faces when they saw me with her. Fucking twats! Why does everyone make me out to be a druggie and all that. I'm just a good boy, who loves his mom and works his ass off to come up in life with the gift I have. So I don't shave sometimes and I wear linen clothes. But only because they're more comfortable. I wish people stop stereotyping so much.
It was fun to have some company. Cocktails at the Lighthouse, but all throughout, all I could do was wish you could be there. Semblances of you appear in everything, like shooting stars out of a night sky and they make you wish. Funny how I always spell 'wish' wrong the first time. I don't know what you're doing now, but I wish that there was a way to be there. I don't know where we are heading, but I know I'm lost. Everyday, the world fades, loses a little more colour. Till one day, all there is left is purple. The colour of hope. I'm too scared to think about a day like that. I miss you angel.
Yours always,
LD
Ps. I wish I could send you this letter, but they say you're happy, so I won't. I don't want to ruin anything for you. I really do hope you know what you're doing.
This is my first attempt at a novel. All writing is copyright to Lasantha David and cannot be taken or reproduced under any circumstances.
No comments:
Post a Comment