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July 20, 2017 - 151 words
Ferelery wrote his nightly love letter to the person he hadn’t seen or spoken to in 12 years, perfecting the lettering and making sure each stroke was in its perfect place. It was a work of art. When he finished it, all seven pages of confessions and farewells, he slid it into an envelope, addressed it, stamped it, sealed it, and placed it on his piano. Then he began the nightly ritual of wondering whether it was better off in the mailbox or the trash. It felt good to write. Every night it felt good to write, like he was composing it for the first time, and the 12 years that separated him and that one night of incomprehensible bliss collapsed. The letter would change everything. He imagined he would relive that night. He would have that feeling again. That’s what he told himself every night for the last 12 years.