Writing Letters [completed // editing]

| letter two august 30 1999 | *

**EDITED**

"Imagination is the only weapon in the war against reality."

                            ~cheshire cat

Dear Angel, 

It's been fifteen days since my last letter. Do you remember when we bumped into each other at that cafe? The small one that has the poetry readings. It's quite cozy, actually.  I was carrying my cup of mocha with an extra three shots of espresso and you with your plain black coffee. We bumped into each other, each other's drinks spilling onto the other. When I looked up, I had no recollection of you. Remember? 

Your face darkened and you pulled me over to a small table in the window. "You owe me a steamer," I murmured quietly, scared you would hurt me, like so many others. "You," you said, pointing a finger at me. "Yes, me," I said, moving your finger out of my face. "Did nobody ever tell you it's rude to point," I asked dryly. 

Do you remember that?

That day, sitting in Starbucks, my sweater smelling of disgusting black coffee, your hoodie of amazing mocha (with extra espresso), we struck up an animated conversation. 

Do you remember? 

That was the day before I sent you my first letter. 

As always

Ash 

This is a quick a/n,

i want to dedicate this chapter to xAllToWell, cuz her stories are ahmazing. check them out!

toodles!