Dear Edmund:
I'm not one of the popular kids, as you may have noticed before.
But looks can be deceiving, as you may also have noticed before.
Because I look small, like a gust of wind can blow me over, like I'm hiding, behind my favorite brown sweater and rebellious dark hair (I don't understand how it always manages to get in my eyes, or look tangled, even though it's straight). I look like if you talk to me I will have a seizure, like I am both angry and afraid at the same time (I swear these damn eyebrows).
That's why I get it, that someone may be surprised. When I speak fluent sarcasm, when I talk back loud and clear (even though I prefer to speak quietly), when they see that I may not be popular, but get along with most of them.
I live for the look of shock on their faces, when Dylan ruffles my hair (the tangling is probably his fault). Or when Septimus cheers me on in class (that kid is a sweetheart, and I think he is too shy to ask anyone else for academic help). Or when I have inside jokes with Mike. Or that one time when we were talking and you pulled my chair closer, or when you shush other people because I'm talking, or all those times you smile and wave at me.
But it hurts somehow, when I realize that if I wanted, I could have a lot of friends, friends like you Edmund, friends in general. But I can't goddammit. I can't.
YOU ARE READING
Letters to Edmund
Sachbücher"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)
