I know things are hard for you. You don't talk about it much, but I know anyway. I remember, ages and ages ago, when you were younger, you used to tell me these long lists of all the things that made you happy. Seashells and ice cream cones, the color yellow, some new doll, sparkly nail polish from your mom.
It's not that you seem sad just--not happy. I think I know because I've been there--I've been in the place where you're just existing, living without really feeling alive. I'm afraid I can't do much for you, all the way over here, but nonetheless, I feel especially bad about what I have to tell you.
I'm not going to be able to write for a while. I can't explain why, and I know that won't satisfy you, but please, don't be offended. I have a new project that's going to take up much of my time, and I won't be online much. I can't promise you'll hear from me at all, but if I have a chance I'll try to drop you a message just to let you know I'm alive.
Take care of yourself. Do something. Find something that makes you happy. Be stupid and have lots of adventures to tell me about when I'm back.
Best wishes,
Evan
I didn't even know how to respond. I was tired of this, tired of it all. I was just about ready to explode, I could feel the pressure building inside me, knew it was only a matter of time before...
YOU ARE READING
Dreams
General FictionEthan dreams of Maribelle, the beautiful and popular dancer, every night, but in his dreams she's not the same person as she seems to be in reality. Meanwhile, Maribelle struggles with facing an image of herself she has painted, one that she feel...
