Leila—Letter to You

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Writer 1

Writer 2

Writer 3

I’ve been dreaming of the Summer. Last time I saw you it was screaming hot, sunshine gold, clear skies. You were stood, middle of the field out back of the school, breathing heavily, kind of sweaty. 

I’ve immortalised you that way—with your gap teeth and tousled hair. Completely and utterly perfect. You’ve been writing less these past few weeks.

I get it, you’re busy.

I’ve been watching your Instagram stories, desperate for some glimpse of ivory shine and chestnut eyes. 

You have lots of friends; of course you do. You’ve always been so charming, so beautiful. A born and raised star. Your parents have been so proud.

Our hometown is still dreary. The Summer feels colder now and the sun is duller.

When I went to see your story today, you had a cut on your arm. It must’ve been fresh, red blood glistening. It reminded me of the time you cut yourself while cutting a watermelon. It was just as red and resplendent and you let me suck on it. Your blood tasted like watermelon and iron, it made me thirst for more. But who am I kidding? A love so sweet could never be true. Nostalgia is longing and I cannot wait for you no more. I cannot long for you no more. Ice settles over, my love for you grows colder too, the sweat on my skin does not stick to me anymore. My memories of you shall not cling to me no more. You moved on so I must too, pack up and move out, and find a new summer to fall in love with, one that can keep me warm through winters like this.