Dear Charlie, Logan, and Joseph:
I got your letters. Well, not ones you'd written, but ones that have the scrawl of my past self on their envelopes.
Each letter stamped:
Return to sender.
They're unopened. Each letter sealed the same way I'd left it. You'll never see my angry scrawl or sad, loopy handwriting pouring out over the page, telling you everything I'm terrible at getting from my head to my mouth.
Logan
I have ink in my veins, and maybe that's why words on a page flow so well for me. My words get caught in my throat and my hands itch to reach out to you and let you feel the words that are being trapped beneath my skin.
Charlie
I would do anything to give you these words, get their toxic sting out of my blodstream. Your words have infected my heart, and I would do anything to cleanse it.
Joseph
I wish you had the same amount of love I gave the others, but I'd left too much of myself with my past and was saving too much for my future. There was nothing left to spare.
I'm sure I'll get this letter back.
It's of some assurance that you've recieved these. But it's a sigh of relief that you're not replying.
Goodbye,
One last time.
Amelia
