To, whoever the hell finds this,
I don’t know where this is going to end up, or who’s going to find this. I just thought one day, why don’t I put a letter in a bottle and see who finds this. Not really mature, but if you’re reading this, congratulations.
My names, Holden Croft, even though I’ll doubt you know who the hell I am. My brother, died a few months ago, in a car crash. I’ve avoided getting into a car ever since, and I don’t drink at parties anymore. Is that sad, because I’m only 18. I feel like I’m being pressured into moving on, heck, my parents already have.
But I’m not ready. And I’m not too sure when I will be.
This seems really idiotic, writing all my problems down then planning to throw it into sea. I just don’t have anyone to tell my problems too. Sorry if you were hoping from something really funny when you unravelled this paper, because you’ve got anything but happiness here.
I just want to tell you something, whoever you are, something that my brother told me.
“Even if you don’t believe it yourself, there’s always someone there, waiting to help you.”
For me, that person was my brother. I’m still trying to find another person, and so far, my search hasn’t gone too well. Whoever you are, have a good day, or night, depending on where you are.
I hope you have that person with you right now. The person who will always be there for you to tell your problems too.
-Holden.
YOU ARE READING
perfect flaws.
ChickLit{completed.} In which four misguided teens struggle to find steady ground of which to be themselves. Told through letters, phone-calls, text messages, facebook inboxes and some narrative. © 2013 imogen timby.
