It’s been two months, and you haven’t answered any of my letters. I’m not asking you to forgive me immediately. I just need to hear from you. You’ve shut Roland out of your room, and you move out of his sight whenever you can, like you’re trying to erase yourself from my life.
All I have of you are glimpses through the eyes of another and emotions you try to hide.
Come back to me, even if only through paper and ink.
Yours,
Amos
11
SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD
Clover,
It’s been a year since I last heard from you, and I know you’re purposely trying to smother the bond. You’ve forgiven your family, but not me. Why? Did you forgive them because they love you?
Do you think I don’t? Let me make this clear. I love you, Clover. I’ve loved you for a few years now, it just didn’t feel right to say through a letter, but then again, that mindset contributed to this fucking mess I’ve made, so I’ll tell you now.
I fucking love you.
I can’t focus the way I used to. My days are spent waiting for the moments you forget yourself and let me feel you laugh.
If you’re doing this to punish me, it’s working.
You’re the only good part of me, and even if it takes years, I’ll win you back.
I love you.
Yours,
Amos
Clover,
I saw someone today with your hair. For a second, I thought you’d come back to me.
I followed her halfway through the market before I realized it wasn’t you. It must have been a hallucination, because her hair wasn’t even blonde. I’ve never done that before.
I don’t like what I’m becoming without you here. You once told me not to let them break me—to survive and fight back. How do I fight back when I’m the one who broke the only thing keeping me together?
Please come back before there’s nothing left worth coming back to.
I love you.
Yours,
Amos
12
EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD
Clover,
I don’t know if you’re even reading these, and yet I still write to you.
I don’t know what’s worse: you not caring enough to read them, or you reading them and not answering.
