Thinking About You Letter Novels & Stories

It just learned how to exhale. I thought about the letter again, the one tucked into the drawer of my desk, resting beneath all the ordinary things that made up my days. The words weren’t profound. They didn’t try to be. They were simply mine. Not written for applause, not shaped for legacy. Just truth, wrapped in ink and stillness.

The most beautiful penmanship I'd seen. My Dearest Riley, You're probably really angry at me right now for leaving you without notice. But that's just how I am and you know that. I didn't leave because I wanted to, but because I needed to. There's some unfinished business I have to take care of and I cannot involve you. This may take a while and that's exactly why I'm writing to you. (You're probably thinking that's pretty old fashioned, who writes a letter when we have email. But Sweetheart, it's just downright romantic. You admit that, right? ;)

Johnson, Greetings to you! I am Barry, and to simply put here, I wrote this letter to you because, First I know you, not just know, but I know everything to you. I know you're curious why I seem to know you but the reason you're reading this letter because of your parents. Further explaining that, I want you to come to this adress. RJG Corp. Y street, saturday at 1:00 pm. I don't mean no harm. I just want to talk to you. Sincerely Yours,

But I couldn't. I took out my phone and messaged my mother if I could spend a few days with them. Without waiting for her response, I turn off my phone and start to work, in order to get my mind off the letter. And what was written in the letter? 'Next time, use the green' _____________________________ -VOTE- -COMMENT- -STAY SEXY AND SAFE-

“Your ex-mate has been trying to send you a letter. I thought we should read it together.”

I am sending you this letter so that you know I know you. He thought about the letter to the corner. He thought about the practice's letters — the section as the letter written to the person who had not yet arrived, the drawing that said: I have prepared this room for you, I know you are coming. He thought about the five-year-old writing back — writing the return letter, the letter from the attending person to the room that had prepared for them. He thought: she is completing the correspondence.

I send the email before I can talk myself out of it. Subject: Revised Expectations. To: Lucien Moreau. I don’t reread it. I don’t soften the wording. If he wants to play unbothered, I’ll show him what pressure feels like. I lean back in my chair and stare at the city skyline, jaw tight. The glass reflects my expression back at me, controlled, sharp, untouched. It’s almost convincing. Yesterday, he called me Adrian like it belonged to him. Like it wasn’t something earned.

I tore off a fresh page and picked up a pen. "What are you doing?" Marcus asked. "Writing a letter." "To Arthur Sterling?" I nodded. The pen felt heavy in my hand. "I cannot just show up at his office. He is too famous, too protected. I would never get past security. And calling him feels wrong. Too abrupt. A letter gives him time. He can read it privately. Process it. Decide what he wants to do without anyone watching his face." "That is thoughtful." "I have had three days to think about it." I looked down at the blank page. "How do you start a letter like this? Hello, I am the daughter you never knew existed? Dear Mr. Sterling, surprise?"

Thank you so much. I am half worried that this letter will freak you out. So to prevent that, I am going to take a leap of faith and say "I love you" to you directly. If your response is off, I will never give this letter to you. If you are reading this now- well, that means your response is good, and I'm satisfied enough to be brave and give you this. Are you crying? No? I think you are lying... I know you enough to know that this letter will make you cry. I hope the tears that you shed are happy tears. I wish I was there with you. I miss you.

He’s about to be a father. I saw you smile. I saw you at peace. But I also know you were never able to return to him. I don’t know why. Maybe it wasn’t your fault. Maybe you had no choice. But if you ever think of him, know this; he turned out good. Strong. Brave. Loved. You would be proud. This letter may never reach you. I’m sending it with hope and a bit of magic. If you do read it… maybe you can find a way to send something back. Even a word. Something.