It's been a whole summer, a whole three months, since you moved to California. I can feel your absence like a tentacle around my body, getting tighter each day that goes by.
The days are dark when you're not around. The air is getting harder to breathe.
But you're not coming back, so what's the point of these letters? You're never going to read them, because I'm never going to send them.
They will all be pilling up under my bed. Crumpled and useless.
I should stop. I'm wasting trees.
YOU ARE READING
Out of Ink | A Short Story
Short Story❝What if he didn't leave ... what if he disappeared?❞ highest rank: #27 in SS 1st place for Best Tragedy in the Crystal Awards 2016/2017 2nd place for Short Story in the Crystal Awards 2016/2017