20 June 2014
Dear Zayn,
Your latest letter has literally brought tears to my eyes. Meeting you has been the greatest moment of my dull life thus far as well! As for what I’m thankful for, well can I cheat and just say everything about you? You were all elegant and shit in your description and literally all that pops into my mind when I try to come up with my own list is your infuriatingly gorgeous honey-brown eyes and that goddamn smirk that shines brighter than the heavens on a cloudless day. Maybe that’s my brain’s way of making sense of you and your near-godliness. We’ll go with that. In short, my brain (and I, myself, by extension) think you’re perfect.
Anyway, I’ll continue before I say anything stupid(er). You have my word that I will never, ever leave you. Or forget you. Since I can’t actually be by your side or even within the same state as you or—you know what, I think you get it so I’m gonna stop. But as I was saying, I value your friendship and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Truth be told, though, I think I may have found the guy for me. Can I tell you about him? He’s sweet, and caring, and positively gorgeous. It was practically love at first sight for me. But here’s the catch: I can’t tell him how I feel because I’m scared of fucking up the relationship we’re just beginning to kindle. But my god, Zayn, is he perfect. I’m not sure how to approach such a dangerous topic with him, you know? Like what am I supposed to say, “Hey, I’m Niall and do you happen to be gay? Because I think you’re right fit and I’d love a tour of your naked body.” I’m pretty sure he’d think I was some creepy paedophile stalker or something if I said that. He’s older than me, actually, so it wouldn’t be paedophilia, but whatever. This guy is a little broken and he doesn’t think too highly of himself, but I just want the chance to prove that to me, he’s perfect. But I’m just not sure I have the balls to tell him how I feel. What do you think I should do? I trust your judgment.
You were correct in your recollection that I’m attending Journalism school. I haven’t done much writing since summer holidays started, quite honestly, but lucky for you I did scribble down a short poem the other night as I was caught in the grips of insomnia. It goes as follows:
“He was like a butterfly,
beautiful to all eyes but his own.
He was like the ocean,
his depths held mysteries yet undiscovered.
He was like the moon,
part of him was always hidden away.
He was like the sun,
light and warmth encircled him like a halo.
He was love,
pure and simple.”
And there you have it, Niall J. Horan. Author. I hope you have enjoyed this soul-baring experience and feel enlightened as to my inner workings. Poetry is how I tend to express myself, so to answer your question, it is my favourite genre when it comes to my writing. After graduation, I intend on applying to several newspapers and magazines in hopes that I will someday become a journalist (sports journalism would be fantastic; I could practically get paid to sit on my arse all day and watch football!).
My question for you today is what is your favourite type of music? Which bands/artists do you find yourself dancing along to while you’re absentmindedly doing chores around Alcatraz? I won’t even make fun of you if you listen to weird shit, I promise. (I happen to maybeee like Justin Bieber. What? Kid’s got talent! He’s made a right arsehole of himself lately, though, I must admit.) So that’s all I’ve got today, write back soon!
Yours always,
Nialler xx
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YOU ARE READING
Alcatraz
FanfictionZayn Malik. One of the most notorious gangsters of the twenty-first century. Niall Horan. Just your average University journalism student. The two were so different from each other. They were never supposed to come in contact at all. They were neve...
