You write to friends no one else believes in, letters bleeding across the page like prayers. Their names rise beneath your hand, familiar as family, yet invisible to every eye but yours. The room around you feels crowded- chairs filled with shadows that lean closer, their whispers dripping into your ear until silence itself becomes unbearable. You know the paper cannot answer, yet you press harder, as if your words might pin them down, as if ink could hold them still. Each letter you send is a tether, binding you tighter to voices that will never leave, even when the world insists you are utterly, hopelessly alone.