Between These Lines ✔️

t w e l v e : i m p e r f e c t

Dear Wren,

Let's start afresh, shall we?

We'd pretend I didn't do the awful thing I've done. That I'm still the innocent fat girl who stares up at you like your eyes hold all of the stars in the sky. And you're still the guy who would smile back at me out of kindness, in the hallways where people are watching and knowing for certain that you can never look at me the same way.

Okay. Here goes everything.

My name's Elijah Anne Easton. I'm...ordinary. Nothing fits me better than that word. I like music, and there was a stage in my teen life when I could only listen to old songs. As in 60s-70s old. I once swore I could live off listening to Bee Gee's sing me Massachusetts. My dad only laughed at me when I told him that. It turned out it was just a phase, and suddenly I was blasting Justin Bieber like everyone else.

Now, tell me something I don't know about you. Have you ever had a short-lived obsession for anything?

I wish this compulsive need of writing these letters to you will turn out to be just like that. Transient, temporary. I can't go on writing to you my whole life, even if my therapist says it's helpful and a good let-out.

How did you cope, Wren? Did you go see a therapist too, write me letters? Honestly,
I can't see you doing all that. I assumed after you found out about it, you just poured yourself out into your game and blocked out everything else, including me. That's what you do in rough times. Like when your parents were on the brink of divorcing, you played to no end, saying it was for the inter-school.

For days, you were like that. Until one night, you came standing at my doorstep, looking broken, worked-up, hurting. I realized then that your life weren't as perfect as I thought it was. Things get to you, too. You're raw, human, flawed.

But as it was, I have put you in pain myself and no matter how much I wanted to remain the person you came leaning onto, it just can't be anymore.

You know what, this whole idea was stupid. We can't start afresh with a clean introductory. The damage is done, and I am foolish to think I could ever undo it.

Burn this one letter if you so please.

Ellie