𝐬𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐞 → 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐬 (𝐢𝐢)

eleven [s]

saturday,
april 20th, 2020

SHAWN MENDES

I wrote a letter.

Last night, I wrote a letter for her. To her. About her. I don't know if she'll ever see it or receive it, but admittedly, it felt good to get my feelings down on a page, and for once, it wasn't in lyric form. I even folded it and stuffed it in a white envelope with her name on it.

They're real words, real emotions. They outline exactly how I feel with no boundaries. It's bittersweet, really. Having the confidence to finally confess my own feelings to myself, but not quite having the confidence to go and give this to her yet. Maybe I never will. I truly don't know. She may never, ever see this letter. She could never know what I've written.

Something inside me tells me I won't let that happen, though.

As I lay atop the freshly made bed, there's a knock on the door.

"Hey bro," Flynn says as he sticks his head into my room, "campfire is ready. You coming?"

I sit up, nodding and Flynn smiles, walking away from my door. I sigh, getting up and pulling on a hoodie. The nights out here get pretty cold. I shove my feet into my Vans and toss my phone on the bed, deciding to leave that world behind for a while.

Before I leave my room, I shake my muscles out, clearing my mind. This is a family weekend, and I leave late tomorrow. I owe it to my family to be happy around them and not transfer my heartache on to them. They don't deserve that.

So, with a brighter mindset, I make my way out of the lake house, grabbing a blanket from the couch on the way. I descend the outdoor cobbled steps and cross the first garden, strolling over the footbridge and setting foot on the opposite garden. My family is huddled around the fire, roasting s'mores.

I smile despite the memories attached to this simple patch of grass.

"Shawn," Trinity gulps, "go slow."

I look at her, puzzled. I've never gone slow. She nods and gazes at me with these gorgeous pleading eyes. She makes everything she wants hard to say 'no' to for me and she doesn't even know it.

"Slow?" I repeat in a whisper and steady my hips, "You sure?"

"Please."

"C'mon Shawn, have a s'more," Dad calls and I nod with a smile, joining my favourite people on the ground, sitting cross-legged between Mum and Adrian.

There's blankets spread out and everyone is dressed warmly. There's a cooler that holds some beer, too. I grab the items needed to construct a s'more and when I make it, I stick it on a fork to hold it above the blazing fire. I watch intently as the fire alights the chocolate treat, feeling the heat radiate against my face. Before the marshmallow can completely melt away, I retract my hand and blow air on the snack to cool it down.

I eat it, groaning in satisfaction, "That's good."

"Scott's eaten seven already," Mum laughs and Scott glances up from his eighth s'more.

"What?" he mutters, "It's been too long."

We all chuckle and indulge in more s'mores. We drink beer as chatter surrounds us, and I suddenly feel much happier. Soon, it turns into a competition to see who can eat the most s'mores. Mum backs out after three and Dad scoffs down five. Scott struggles with his ninth, but succeeds, earning baffled expressions from everyone. He only shrugs and we all continue. I manage six, Flynn devours seven and Adrian's stuffed after six as well.