'of course im speaking to you, jacinda, don't play dumb. i need you to write a letter' the woman grabbed the quill and dipped it in ink. 'shoot' she said. this is what she wrote:
dear mary;
the recent turn of events have forced me to send dylan back to you; as i write this letter, he's boarding the train, and by the time you read this, he'll be halfway home. i urge you not to worry, lee has already taken care of all; even the issue with the darkness. i must insist on what i said last time we saw each other: do not let them in, mary; as much as you want to, you have to remember what they are and who you are.
until fate sees fit for us to meet again,
marcus.
and when the ink letters stopped shining, jacinda folded the letter and sealed it within a cream-colored envelope.
YOU ARE READING
high thoughts
Poetryjust some stuff i write when high (not particularly good and not exactly well written) TW: suicide and depression stuff
