As soon as I woke up, I was ready.
I went to bed last night excited, and woke up excited. It was weird; my head hit the pillow, and I slept. My head lifted off the pillow, and I was fully awake and fully aware of the crinkling underneath it.
First was something simple. Part of me was nervous to do these things; I didn't just talk to people. I didn't have the nerve. So, I decided to write a letter.
I wondered whether the person who wrote my letter felt like this when they started. I sat behind my desk, laid out a fresh piece of paper -taking the time to smooth it out with my palms- and pulled a pen out of the drawer. I started the way I felt seemed fit.
This is kind of awkward.
Then I kept going.
This isn't awkward because of the topic. This is awkward because you don't know me and I really don't want you getting the wrong Idea. You see, the thing is, I like people. I like people a lot. I feel like everyone's somehow special and that includes you.
I just wanted to remind you of that.
I want to remind you that you're very special. Your laugh is special, your personality is special, and the person you see in the mirror is special.
I don't know if you're going through a hard time or not, but that doesn't matter. I just wanted to remind you. Is that okay? okay, well it's too late for it not to be.
It didn't feel write to just stop there. More was needed; there was a gap at the end and it was to be filled.
You're special.
and so are other people. So I have a mission for you. Write a letter or call someone or tell someone on the sidewalk that they're special. Is has to be someone you don't know. Let's make this a thing okay? so then, everyone will know they're special and that they're worth it.
okay yeah. You're special.
I was by no means a writer but that felt nice. Something in my chest tightened, then released. It felt like I had done something good and it made me breath a little easier.
Folding the paper into three sections with crisp edges, I stuffed it in an envelope and licked the tab before closing it. My walk downstairs was slow but not overly so, mainly because I liked the moment. That felt like the perfect way to go into summer.
I went outside, opened my mailbox, and put it in. I looked at the random adress on it's front; whoever that person might be was hopefully going to be enlightened.
My mom called from the front door, " What are ya doing out there?"
I called back, my voice stretching up the lenght of our driveway, " i'm reminding someone of their worth!"
" Alright, good for you honey." She then closed the door.
I waited a little longer. Summers weren't particularly warm and the weather wasn't particularly sunny, but there was a breeze that ruffled my hair enough that I saw the tips; red, quite literally. Taking a piece between my index and middle finger, I twirled it, watching the way the color caught what little sunlight there was.
Then I went inside.
Carefully, I sat on the edge of my bed, and gingerly I held the paper in my hands. I wouldn't do any more of the tasks today. I had to savor what little of them they're were. Until the next day, it sat under my pillow.
YOU ARE READING
Paper Hearts | ✓ | [ e d i t i n g ]
RomanceIn which a girl who never gets mail receives a list of things that are suppose to change her life. And change the way she views happiness. • Fair warning: this isn't edited. It isn't the best and it definitely isn't bomb proof. I'm sorry for the la...