Dear Edmund:
I sit, trembling, in my new desk, clicking my pen, tapping my foot, biting my nails. Can you see it Edmund? how fast I'm going mad? And then the teacher said your name, and I realised, she wanted you to sit next to me. And it was so cliché I could have writen a book, but I don't think my trembling hands would have let me, at that moment. Maybe I will write a book someday, because that's what writers do, they write, and, boy, would you be something worth writing.
YOU ARE READING
Letters to Edmund
Non-Fiction"Letters to you, even though you'll never get them" (This book is like a diary for me, everything that happens actually happens for real, so please respect my work and the characters because they are real people)
