The second letter is written in scrawled biro on a sheet of lined paper.
Hey Benvolio.
I'm honestly not sure what to write. I don't know if you'll ever read these, but I'll write them anyway. Like a diary but to someone else. Anyhow, this is mostly about you, so here goes;
I fell in love with you on the day we met. I fell in love with your hand first. It was the first part of you I saw. You were opening a door that was ajar, and your left three fingers curled around the side of the door. You had a freckle on the inside of your index finger. Then the rest of you appeared. Wow. Your eyes were so amazing. They still are, but this was the first time I saw them, huge and leaf green in a lightly tanned face, above a crazy splattering of cute freckles, under a mop of messy curly golden hair. It should not be legal for people to be so perfect.
I was in love.
Mercutio xxx
YOU ARE READING
Dear B
Historical FictionBenvolio is falling apart. And he's just discovered a box of letters left to him by his best friend. Who died. No one said life was easy. Everyone said dealing with death was hard. Mercutio said something else.
