Letters || z.m

Letters || z.m

Reads 495
Votes 30
Parts 7

Ongoing29m

Last published Sun, Mar 23, 2014

"Hi!, My name is Zayn Jawadd Malik, and I'm 7 years old. My birthday is on the 12th of January! I live in Bradford in London. London is in England! I have black hair and brown eyes. I like to draw. My favourite colours are blue and red and my favourite animal is a lion! My mummy says I'm a good drawer! Do you like to draw? What's your name? What do you look like? What's your favourite colour? My mum says I have to go. Are you gonna write back? I drew you a picture! It's a lion! Bye! ROAR!" "Hi! My name is Iris Samantha Doll and I'm 7 years old too! My birthday is on the 2nd of April. My friends and family call me weird nicknames. I'm from Sydney in New South Whales. That's in Australia. I have really dark brown hair and my mum says my eyes change colour! My favourite colours are black and white and my favourite animal is a dinosaur! I like to draw too! Well, I hope we write to each other forever! I drew you a picture too! It's a dinosaur! Bye! RAWR!" When 7 year old Iris Samantha Doll gets assigned a pen pal from all the way in England, she's ecstatic! But, after the program finishes, they continue to write. They tell each other secrets they would never tell anyone else. The two continue to write during Zayns X-Factor days, sending photos and such , until one day, they send each other their phone numbers too. The two contact each other in many ways, but their favourite way is to write, pen and paper. But what happens when the band are chased by crazed fans into Iris' book store/ cafe, while Iris is in the middle of her live performance (for an audience of customers and workers)? Will there be love? Romance? Or will they remain 'just friends'? Read to find out, in "Dear Zayn". A story by becauselarry_.WARNING: explicit language and sexual references.

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THIS IS A VERY OLD STORY THAT MY 14Y/O SELF WROTE AND IT'S BASICALLY ANGST AND CLICHÉ AND I HATE ZAYN AND 1D PLEASE DON'T READ THIS. Dear life, No matter how, or from where I start telling my story, it would still sound cliché. After all, it's depressingly common. But I believe that everybody has a choice in how to tell their story, and the way of telling it is what matters. I won't sugar-coat it. I won't say that my journey with you was all sunshine, and no rain; where anything could be solved by a song, because that's not the truth. The truth is as simple as: I hated you. Every time you knocked me down, somehow, I managed to stand up again, but living you was like walking a fine line: I had no idea when I would fall and break my neck. I didn't choose you; I was forced to live you. But you're like swimming in the deep end of the ocean; at any second, a wave would crash over me and I would drown and float away. You have succeeded to swallow me under and pull me apart many times, and I give you credit for that. I wasn't a very tough kid back then, though, because I had nothing to hold on to. My mother gave up on my father and me, and after a while, I gave up on you. But God wanted a different ending to my story, so he threw 'him' into the chaos I call my life. He smiled, and saved me. I found solid ground. And just like that, everything started to make sense again. "I'm Zayn," he said, but to me, it sounded more like, "I'm your saving grace," then, I was catching feelings. I saw the good in you, and he showed me the good in me. That was all it took to save me: a smile. Now, every word, every touch, every kiss gives me one more reason to hold on to you, so I guess I'll be here for a while. And until I'm gone, all I want is to make him happy. I'm living for him, and it's the best way to live. Life, please, make him happy. Let him know that I like my choices, and I hope he likes his. With love, Lexie Grey.

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