Dear William,
I remember when you used to hold my hand and press your lips down to it. I remember the long nights of talking about our days. College for me, I was always ranting about my professor Mr.Randal. He was the worst. And you'd tell me how it was going to be okay. You also told me that he was an asshole for giving me a seventy on that one paper that I spent almost a month working on. Then we'd move on to your day, a day filled with art and magic. You'd never show me what drawing or painting you were working on until it was completely done. Your excuse was that everything you showed me had to be perfect, and it was. Then we'd go to bed and wake up the next morning smiling at each other. I miss it. You know? Us, I miss the days when we were in love and nothing could go wrong. I miss you.
YOU ARE READING
When You Can't Find Home
Short StoryNever said love, written down in a series of chapters. Every other chapter is a letter and the other one is set in the past. Moments, things that should've been said but never were. Regrets and heatache. Love must be either spoken or forgotten.
