She writes letters almost every day.
To a house she use to call home.
Although abandoned and empty now, she doesn't care.
Through the mail her letters are sent, to a place where no souls reside.
So she calls them 'letters to nobody', until one d...
Ultimately I will be regarded as a grown up. I'm eighteen as of today. Maybe I'll finally find some friends. Maybe people will start to tolerate me now.
Maybe I'll be considered more than a nonentity. (Nobody)
Most people might say I should celebrate, but who is there to celebrate with? Dad is away at work, Lara and Vivian are on a shopping spree of sorts and Erin is asleep.
Not much of a celebration vibe there...
I'm currently in my room, doodling nonsense on random pieces of paper, thinking of everything and nothing. Will dad finally get me a car? Does anyone even remember it's my special day today?
Does it even matter? ...
... I guess not, because although I may be eighteen, I'm still a nobody.
Just like you.
***
I sighed with a heavy laden heart, placing my plain blue ink pen down next to my notebook. I trailed random patters on the desk before me with my finger without even realizing it. My mind was nearly spinning with all the gumbling thoughts flying around inside, and I was here trying to grab hold of and make scenes of one.
I felt the sting of unshead tears brim behind my eyelids, but I didn't let them escape. I never let them escape. The last time I cried was four years ago, when my loving, beautiful mother passed away. I vowed to never let a tear slip down my face again after that. Nothing and nobody else is, or will ever be worth crying over again.
"You'd have remembered my big day..." I whispered to nowhere in particular, hoping that my mother could somehow hear me. "I wish you were here."
But she wasn't. And she never would be again.
Without thinking, I grabbed hold of my notebook and ripped out the page with my curvy handwriting on it, folding it up and stuffing it into an empty white envelope. I left it blank except for the address of the house I use to live in, on a street I use to feel welcome on.
Tucking a strand of my long chestnut brown hair behind my ear, I made my way up the stairs and out the front door to the mailbox at the end of our driveway, carefully laying the flat, white piece of paper inside.
Like always, I felt better knowing that my letters were brought somewhere. And although I knew they were never read, knowing they were placed in my long-ago home brought me comfort, like I was writing to an old pen-pal of sorts. My fingers brushed past the cool metal of the mailbox as I turned around and faced what I now called home, or at least the building I lived in. A large extravagant white house stood before me, with thick pillars, grand sparkling windows, and a spacious, perfectly kept lawn.
My eyes scanned the familiar space briefly before glancing back at the red-painted mailbox one last time, before slowly plodding back inside.
***
ɪ ᴡʀᴏᴛᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀ ʟᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅ...
***
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
