Dear Edmund:
So, me drawing is a thing. And I remember the exact day you discovered it.
It's not actually a secret, I draw all the time, and my notebooks have more doodles than they have notes.
It's more like I'm the secret (that makes me sound so pretentious), to you at least, because the look on your face was one of surprise, when you first saw my sketchbook.
It wasn't even you that was looking at it, but you were sitting near my desk, where a couple of girls were looking through it.
I saw your barely masked surprise, and then your supposedly stealthy (they weren't) glances at the small, black notebook out of the corner of your eye.
And I remember when they got to one specific drawing, of a girl sitting on a brick wall. And I think you forgot you were being stealthy Edmund.
Because you practically jumped from your chair "that one's cool" and you cleared your throat "I like that one".
And I preened for a whole week.
YOU ARE READING
Letters to Edmund
Nonfiksi"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)
