reveles
(discover)
「dear Mimi.」
I think this is my first time writing to someone who actually has a possibility of reading this. wow.
it feels a bit strange, since other letters I could write without fear that someone will read it and judge, read it and think thoughts about me behind my back. and I hate it when—if it happens, because there's this feeling of insecurity. a two-faced enigma smiling and scowling in the same breath that i can't puzzle out. so it's like...ever present. lurking. dangerous.
you wouldn't do something like that right?
we've been friends for a while now, so I think I can trust you. but then again the term, 'friends', is a tricky little mystery that I don't think I've quite gotten down yet. one party could think that they were 'friends', while the other doesn't see them quite the same way. two 'friends' is a two person activity where both need to agree that they are indeed, without a doubt, friends.
f r i e n d s.
so I'll ask you now (seeing as other friendships have ended in utter disappointment and heartbreak-oh, the agony! but I'm being melodramatic. obviously. and I digress, you couldn't possibly be the same huh?)
—are we friends?
I hope that you think we are, because I certainly do.
but I think a lot of things, and not all of them are as correct as I hoped I'd be. take for example, by literature worksheets everyday. or the way to make a plate of good scrambled eggs. or, the tricky way to make a friend.
ack! why does all of my thoughts cycle back to that? it is infuriating, Mimi, to think write breathe about that-that infuriating experience and total let-down!
I have faith that you're different.
we're best friends, aren't we?
[the jagged edge of a paper ripped out from a notebook is here. the paper has a slight cream color, the texture smooth. its lines are black and a few splotches of ink dot the page, a telltale sign of a shaking hand shot through with nerves. dried puddles cling to the edges, a crinkled flower marring the surface of the paper.]
later, it would be long past the hour when a girl with the hair of golden fields and a smile as pearly as the delicate, precious gem hidden within a oyster, waved good-bye. white flashing in her hand under the sun, the girl will step outside and shut the door behind her with a thud, leaving the other to scamper upstairs and hide, awaiting the moon to creep out from behind a curtain of cloud.
another door swings open, before clicking shut again quietly—much quieter than earlier on in the day.
and it was then, that under a solitary, flickering lightbulb, a pair of hands grip the small piece of paper, mouthing the words that were penned by her.
when and where, they didn't know. but that wouldn't be much of a concern.
"well, [y/n]. I don't know what to tell you, but I hope you're right too."
***
A/N: a short chapter that I was really excited about and got done really quickly in comparison to a bunch of other chapters for a bunch of other books.
(can you feel the winds of change?)