Dear Wendy,

            Now I definitely don't know what to say. I didn't really expect you to reply to my first letter, so I didn't really plan out what I wanted to talk about. It seems that though we're writing to each other to keep in contact, we really don't have much to say. I want to change that, though.

        I know I didn't contact you and, to be honest, I don't really have an excuse. I'm tempted to say that the reason I didn't send you e-mails was because, like you said, I was six years old. I wasn't the smartest of children, so it didn't take me long to forget that we'd made those e-mail addresses. That doesn't mean I forgot about you, though, because I didn't.

        I thought about you most times, like on your birthday; I made you cards every year in the hopes that I'd be able to send them to you, but mum said it was too expensive. I still have them, and to be honest, I even made one for your seventeenth birthday in the hopes that, now that I'm older, my mum would probably let me send them off. She still hasn't though, and I think she's forgotten about you.

        I think of you every single time my birthday comes around. I blow out another candle every single year and I make a wish; I wish that you'd appear next to me and that you'd just smile and say, "happy birthday", but that never happens, and my birthday never does end up being a happy one.

        I'm sorry, Wendy. It pains me to know that I hurt you in any way. It was never my intention, you know that. Don't pretend that society is what makes you unhappy. Be honest with me here, Wendy. I know that it's my fault, but I wouldn't give up a friendship with you for the world; you have always meant everything to me and nothing can change that.

        Not even eleven years.

        Hope to hear from you soon,
                   your not-so-smart best friend, Luke x

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