You ran to your room. You slammed the door so loudly, your mother thought you broke the door fringes. It wouldn't matter though. You are moving.
You punched the ground, kicked the wall, then threw papers out of your large opened window. Under all those papers you found a love letter.
You tried to remember who gave it to you. Does it matter? You are leaving.
You decided to read the black letter with golden words:
I'm bad with talking. But I've wanted to talk with you ever since I saw you. Your eyes remind me of Mars. Your hair reminds me of sand. I am intrigued by you. Let's be friends?
From a dork you've never met,
Honey.
