To My Darling Mira: i can only write you when it’s raining. lightning sparks & trees quiver & raindrops slide into the gutter as i sit outside and pen letters that will never be sent; addressed to my uncle & my best friend & you, always you, telling them that i hope i never see them again, and to write to me every sunday. i hate you, i write, my pen pressing hard on the page, and if you could read the words buried in between the lines you’d find: i’m sorry. and soon, i’ll stick these in the mailbox and wait for the mailman to yell at me again for sending in soaked pages of unintelligible ink so i’ll have someone to blame, so i don’t have to blame myself. i’ll pause, then continue, scribbling one last note at the end: this will be my last letter. stop thinking of me, for i never think of you. the rain has never washed away something so blatantly untrue.
Sophia Chen ‘24 Scholastic Silver Key
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