Memories Letter Novels & Stories

“I’m so sorry for your loss. I understand what you feel completely.” “Thank you.” “Does it ever get any better?” He asked. “People say that time heals all wounds. Is it true?” “The wounds never really heal. And in the small chance that they do, there will always be a scar. Losing someone is like losing a part of yourself that you can never take back.” What the fuck am I saying? I was supposed to make him feel better, not make him feel worse. But I can’t lie to him. Even after ten years, I miss my parents dearly. Her death did not make things easier for me as well. It’s like the pain just keeps on adding up until I explode. “Sometimes you think that you’ve moved on, only to realize that you h

“Yeah, but I'm still trying to figure out where we've met, but I can't remember precisely” Katy said, and she smiles, “Okay let me remind you, I have a good memory of any past happenings” Leonard said, “Are you telling me that I don't have good memories?“ Katy Inquired, “okay, I will find a way to boost up my memories” she said, “I didn't say that, don't misunderstood me, I just want you to remember just little things about me” Leonard said,

The sun was shining its morning raise over the clear sky. The birds were chirping the morning songs along the fragrant wind dancing with the baby leaves of trees in the celebration of a new day. Today was mid-August 2010 when Jane Martin was preparing for her first ever class at Bardell Senior High School after she drove to Washington two weeks ago with her whole family.

That pain cut deeper than any blade. I remember sending him letters like a desperate fool, letter after letter that were left unanswered. And when his reply finally came, over a year later, it wasn’t comfort, it wasn’t explanation—it was a rejection letter. Cold. Final. That memory still burns in me, as if it happened yesterday.

She carefully opened the envelope. Inside was a handwritten letter and a tiny silver memory card. Liam frowned. "A memory card?" Oliver smiled faintly. "The master drive." Emma's heart raced. "So it wasn't in my necklace after all." Oliver nodded. "No." "The necklace was only meant to lead you here." Emma unfolded the letter. The first line made her stop breathing. My dearest Emma, if you're reading this, it means I couldn't keep my promise to come home. A tear rolled down her cheek.

"Because it was a good day. And because I do not want to forget the good days. Even the ones that ended badly." Laura looked at the photo. "Thank you," she said. "Do not thank me. It is just a photo." "It is not just a photo. It is a memory." "Same thing." "No. It is not." Rick hugged her. Then he walked to the kitchen. I watched him go. --- Matthew gave me a letter. Not an email. Not a text. A letter. On paper. In an envelope. "Read it later," he said. "Okay." "Not now. Later."

“Today, I remembered the way cinnamon makes me feel. I remembered my mother’s laugh. I remembered how I used to look at the sky and think the stars knew me. But I still don’t remember you. And somehow, that hurts more than anything.” She closed the journal. Then, slowly, carefully, she placed one of the unsigned letters Max had written beside it—the one she’d read more than any other. Back at Carter Industries, Marco slammed a thick folder down on Max’s desk. “You’re not going to like this,” he muttered.

She remembered every inch, every taste. My jaw locked so tight it hurt. The shove at the warehouse replayed in my head in slow motion. His voice told me to quit it. His look—like I was something he had to scrape off his shoe. But her? She got letters. She got memories he didn’t flinch from. I folded the letter slowly, tucking it back into my jacket. Not his. My hands weren’t shaking—they were too steady for what was boiling inside me. If that’s who he wants in his head, fine.

You were always reaching for something solid, and I was just water—shifting, slipping, drowning everything good in me. I don’t expect forgiveness. I don’t even expect you to read this. But I need you to know I remember. Everything. Your laugh. Your eyes. The way you whispered my name like a secret you wanted to keep. I remember you. And I’m sorry for forgetting you when it mattered most. I folded the letter slowly. Pressed it between the pages of my old journal. I didn’t cry. I didn’t rage. I just stared at the words until they stopped meaning anything.

When Julia returned home, her heart was heavy. That evening, she could not relax because her thoughts kept returning to her boss's illness and the letter she had discovered. She still can not believe he had actually kept it. “Hello there”, the letter had started. Her mind quickly flashed back to her twelve-year-old self sitting by her small desk in her room. There was a smile on her face as she penned down her feelings to him. Now as Julia laid in her bed, she couldn't help but think about the letter she had just read. It all came back to her, the memories flooding into her head as she remembered it all.