Two Millimetres - a collection

Two Millimetres

Dear boy who they said didn’t exist.

I’m writing this letter to you because I saw you today and I know you are real. I’m not going to send it to you or anything, because you never told me your address. That means I can’t go out to play with you, but when I met you in the field next to Catcher’s Park you said you came there a lot. I hope I’ll see you again.

I’m writing this letter because Aunt told me to. She told me to go and write something and stop talking about you because you weren’t there, she said. I don’t mind; I’m the best in my class for Literacy. I’ve never seen you there before, at the field I mean. I wonder where you go to school. I wonder what your name is; you never told me, did you? I bet it’s really cool. I want to see you again. It’s strange that I didn’t touch you at all though; you kept moving away. I hope next time we meet in Catcher’s field we can play.

Love, Zelda

Dear girl who they say they didn’t see

I know they must have been able to see you when we were in Atlas Park today – my brothers, I mean – because I could see you, just as I could see me. You seemed nice. I ran away from the others because they said it was a handball in football – but they always say that, I swear it wasn’t. Anyway it was weird you standing in the middle of the field just like that because nobody comes round there anymore. There are daisies everywhere and no one likes stepping on them so it’s useless for football.

Anyway, I enjoyed talking with you but it’s weird you kept moving away whenever I came near unless you don’t like boys. I don’t normally play with girls either but I liked you. You looked about my age, about seven or eight. I don’t get why they didn’t notice you either. They told me to stop sulking alone in the flowers. I don’t know why I’m writing this anyway because I don’t know where your house is and I don’t even know your name. I just want to speak to you again because you’re the only one round here who understands me. It was only like half an hour but you listened.

Love Ewan

Dear Ewan

It’s strange that I didn’t know your name even, exactly two years ago. Today we met again and now at least I know your name, but there’s so much that’s strange still. We must have met ten times since then but I still don’t know where you live. But you’re nice, Ewan Hart. I remember when I didn’t know your name. It’s not strange like mine but it suits you. Everything suits you, Ewan, even your weird hair. You said it’s brown but it definitely looks silver to me. This letter’s never going to reach you, but it helps to say it. I can’t talk to Aunt about it because she locks me in my room whenever you come up. She says I’m too old for imaginary friends but I know you’re real. I’ve met you twelve times at Catcher’s Field.

Zelda

Dear Zelda

Out two-year anniversary today at Atlas Park was cool, specially now I know your name. My name’s boring but yours is cool. I was almost right with your age, you were eight. We’re both ten now. Your hair’s cool too. It’s really long, and it’s silver, but you refuse to say it is. You say mine is instead.

Strange; you know, weird we still haven’t touched. You know. And when we play football with my brother’s old ball you always miss the ball by a mile. But we just laugh and then we lie down in the daisies and we throw them at each other but the wind always weirdly carries them away from you and then we laugh. And then we talk; we talk for ages, and you listen, and it never gets boring. You still move away, though. And then when the others come they always say you’re not there. I know you are, but they say it all the same. We always fall out over it but we argue over everything.  Strange that I feel closer to you than after twelve visits and I still don’t know where you live. But I do. I like you, Zelda.