Dear you,   I don’t know exactly what I want in life. I used to know. When I was younger, everything was clear as day. Everything in life made sense, and I thought I could predict where I was going to end up. Was I wrong? Of course. Was I a fool? No. I didn’t know better, and I don’t think ignorance necessarily labels one a fool. However, if you think it does, I guess we’re all fools then, and if we’re all fools, are  we all fools? Lately, I have been frustrated with myself.

Dear you,   Last letter, I was focused on myself and my feelings. I needed to express myself, and writing helps me. I addressed the letter to you, but for the longest time, I struggled with actually sending it off. Despite the fact that I shared no real details, there were two things holding me back. The first is, should the person I wrote about read it someday, I would not want him to feel betrayed. Yes, perhaps there is no conversation between us now, but I respect what was

Dear you,   I shut my eyes and try to breathe, but his voice floods my thoughts. I hear our late-night phone conversations. I remember the laughter in both our voices. I reminisce about what was, and I forget what is. I’ve obsessed with trying to understand what changed. I’ve convinced myself there is something I’ve missed, something that explains it all. But there’s nothing to be found. We were friends, and now we’re not, I tell myself. Then, I tell myself, no, we were never

Dear you,   You know those nights you have work to get done, but you can barely keep yourself awake? Yes? Well, tonight is not one of those nights. Tonight is one of those nights I have nothing in particular to do, and I really should be getting to sleep, but I can’t bring myself to go to bed. I’m unsure why I’m not tired. I’ve never been good at falling asleep, though, especially when it’s my deepest desire… in that moment (sleep has never been my deepest desire generally sp

Dear you,   Do you ever hold your breath as you unfold an envelope that tells you something about your “status”? Are you in a cold sweat as you read whether you got accepted, or passed, or any sort of news reflecting something in which you were being judged? I’m going to assume you’re nodding because I do. I wonder, though, if it will be different someday. In the future, when I have someone by my side, do you think it would be a calmer experience? Whether the news be good or

Dear you,   I know you receive my letters typed up, but they rarely start like that. Often, it’s just me, an old-school yellow pencil, and my plain, basic notebook. Nothing fancy. I don’t like fancy.   Tonight, I lie on my stomach with my chin planted on my pillow as I write to you from bed. I have my lamp on; it provides the company of a soft yellow glow and brings me to a relaxed state.   Have you had a good day? If the answer is no, I ask, why? If the answer is yes, I stil

Dear you, September. The only month beginning with the letter S . The month in which I celebrate my mother's birthday. The month in which autumn begins, and my seasonal jolliness is in.   As someone who gets incredibly cold (can’t sleep with just one blanket in the winter), my obsession with the colder months may confuse some. But it’s because they don’t see it the same as I do. In both fall and winter, despite the outer chill, there is inner warmth.   I grew up in New York.

Dear you,   Back for another letter? I’m rather flattered. I will admit, though, that I’m curious what it was in my last letter that provoked you to open this one. Will you tell me? You don’t have to; we can keep the mystery. It might even be better that way. I’ll continue writing my letters in a genuine manner rather than losing focus in the attempt to find the perfect style of writing you seem to favor.   So, what shall we speak about today? Any requests? No? This wouldn’t

Dear you,   I’m having the most difficult time starting this letter. Presenting oneself accurately through the means of words, which can be easily interpreted differently in another’s mind, turns the nature of this letter into something more complex. I suppose the core of the issue is that we are mere strangers. You don’t know me, nor do I know you. You’ve never heard the manner in which I express my words. Perhaps our relationship will never go past these letters, and you wi