Dear Lucy, stop sharing this way. You keep overloading the packages, and they break before they’ve arrived. Dear Lucy, I’m not trying to tell you what to do, I’m just trying to help, and yes I know, you’ve heard that before. It’s just that, I don’t think that everyone gets where you’re coming from. I don’t think that everyone gets where they’re coming from. Dear Lucy, I’m sorry that things happened this way. I’m sorry about how many things you can remember. And no. I don’t think that most people have so many things to remember. And no. I don’t know how to stop the memories, but Dear Lucy, it just runs in your family, this heaviness, and this running, Dear Lucy, I don’t know what you mean about feeling too small and too large all at once, but I’m sure that you could just call it antithesis, Dear Lucy, Dear Lucy, have you tried sleeping? Have you been eating? Dear Lucy, you have to sleep, Dear, Lucy, stop crying, stop holding those hands, stop overfilling, you’re not under-filled, and I swear one day you’ll be full, if you’d just stop giving so much away, Dear Lucy, I think I understand now, and Dear Lucy, we’re spiraling. Dear Lucy, don’t leave. Dear Lucy, I’m leaving, stop writing me here.

Dear Dad,

I need to say this before you die, did you know when you were drunk and wanting to fight me when i was a kid and i used to hide under the bed?and you never knew i was there?I just wanted to say you shouldnt of treated your son like that, that you were wrong and should of loved me instead.

Being drunk is no excuse Dad, or not remembering, i remember everything, too much.

August 11, 2063, 3:13 A.M. Space-Time.

My dearest Hanhanbell,

If you ever get this message, it will be my last log. By then, I'm either with you, glistening in the oceans of laughter in unison, or I’m embarking on a long forever-journey to embrace the fate of my own demise.

Either way, I am glad to have known and loved you immensely. You have brought joy, mystery, and discovery into my life.

Before this recording stops and I run out of my last breath while dancing on the full moon, I’d like to say, I'm sorry. I’m sorry for all of my missteps. 

I’m sorry for putting everything on your weary shoulders while I hid in the garage; you’ve supported all of my dreams, putting yours on hold; you kissed me good night, and slept on the couch next to me. 

You made me sandwiches, a hot cup of coffee and even in the middle of those long nights, you woke me up and carried me upstairs to our king bed. I miss all of it terribly now.

I’m sorry for the failures of our unfulfilled hopes and dreams, and the broken promises; you can blame it all on me. 

I should’ve put you first and most. All the time I had spent hiding away to find a way to another universe, I was chipping away so much quality time from us.

I just understood how selfish I’ve been. You deserved better than what I’d promised but never delivered. 

As I lie my head on the dusty surface of this magnificent star and reminisce, I've found nothing to match your beauty and grace. My long journey resulted without fruition. You should’ve been my first and last precious discoveries, my only priceless jewels. 

I’m beginning to wonder why I needed to travel to another planet to find wonders when you’ve always been my only golden planet floating and gravitating beneath my two blind eyes. I'm sorry for not being there for you all the time.

I wish I could fold time and space to kiss your lips for the last time.

If we won’t be dancing together, please keep my memories alive; but move on with your life.

I hope you’ll find a wonderful person, who’ll make your gracious heart beat faster, and make you a happy woman, a joy you deserve for eternity.

Your Love,

MidnightInk 

Dear Grandpa,

I miss you. There is not a day that goes by that I dont ask myself what you would think of me - if you would be proud of me. You are the strongest person I have ever met and I curse god every day for taking you away from me before I had realized how big this world was and how much work there is to be done.

I applied to your alma-mater for callege. I got in but I couldnt afford to go. I decided not to go to college. When I made that decision I convinced myself that you would be proud that I had taken the road less traveled proud that I would be using my gap year to help people and to teach, just like you did for your whole life. But, are you proud? Or are you mad that I didnt work hard enough in high school to get some big merrit scholarship or academic award?

I have organized several protests recently. The world is so broken grandpa, I dont understand how you had the strength to keep fighting for justice every day, how you had the strength or the courage to try to fix a world that was hunting you and wanted you dead. I dont know how you did it but every time I feel myself slowing down or getting tired I remind myself that you would want me to keep going. So I do.

I write about you all the time. My words are the only way I know to express myelf clearly and I have so many feelings and anxieties tht revolve around you - making you proud, doing right by your legacy, upholding the change you spent your life fighting for - that sometimes it just makes more sense to write them out. I wish youcould read what I write about you.

You are my hero. I will spend all my life making you proud to the best of my abilities. I will spend all my life picking up where you let off in your fight for justice. I will spend all my life tryig to live up to my last name and to my title of Harvey Fireside's Granddaughter. I will spend all my life fighting for you.

Love,

Quinn

Wherever you are, I hope you are happy. I hope you are among wise men, old souls and angels. I don’t know if you have thoughts of Earth, but there are people here who miss you.

I wanted to tell you about the first pun that I understood had followed the gradual moans after you said something like, ‘Oh you get your mail from a male? I get mine from a female.’ When everyone rolled their eyes, I remember seeing you as the wisest man in the world.

I remember winning Young Authors, having you visit and speak with the speaker. I remember feeling proud to be in a room with so many writers. I remember you nagging me about not sharing what I was writing; teasing me for keeping my romantic novels to myself.

I remember being jealous of my brother who was invited to play chess instead of me. 

I remember not knowing you, talking to you when I had to and not because I wanted to. I remember rudely asking for the remote when Uncle Gene gave us the first season of ‘Lost in Space’ for Christmas.

I remember watching you fall into the embrace of your recliner, the eternal coffee-stained mug resting on the T.V. tray; I remember you typing behind the folding doors even when we invited you to play a game you chose not to, I remember the impeding invasion of polar ice worms, I remember you drying your socks on the space heater. I remember never being able to wake up eartly and get coffee with you and Phil.

I cherish two times with you the most; when I said goodbye and told you that I couldn’t express how much I loved you, and you replied softly, ‘I know’. And last summer when you critiqued and challenged me to write a story about the statue.

I wish I had played more chess with you. I wish I had shown you more of my writing. I wish you would be here to see my first book published, to see me going to the University of Iowa. I wish I had spent more time in your den. I hope someday to have found the peace and confidence you had in the existence of God and our life here.

To feel no resentment that my time is up too.

How much you’ve inspired me; from the plastic sheep that poops jellybeans, your den, your chair of farts and leather, your holey smoking jacket, to the experiences you’ve treasured, the perspectives you’ve sought after, the knowledge that you know nothing.

I hope that you will understand why I took so many books from your den. I hope it isn’t seen as greed but my attempt to discover the stories you found important to keep your legacy to anyone who has read your books. 

I will miss you, I hope only to make you proud and bring more and more people to appreciate your work.

Love,

Abigail Sire

Dear crush,

Hello from your weird friend. From the girl that helps you with your homework cause you’re smart but just like everyone else you need a little help once in a while.

I would like to tell you, as briefly as possible, everything that I know as well as what I don’t know.

Here’s what I know. You care. You care about everyone, including me so thank you. I also know that I like talking to you despite your strange sense of humour. I know that you hate socializing just as much as I do. I know that despite being busy you’ll make time to watch the anime I asked you to watch. I know that even though you constantly say no, you’ll learn the song I asked you to learn and last but certainly not the least; I know you like her.

It was an assumption at first but after watching you, as I usually do, I saw it was true. She’s lovely really. She’s one of my favourite people and I know that if she liked you too you’d be a nice couple.

Here’s what I don’t know. You’ve been giving me an awful lot of attention lately but of course she still receives more. You’ve been watching me, maybe because you noticed me watching you. If you ignored me or gave me a normal amount of attention I’m sure I could get over you. I just don’t know if I want to. If you actually told me you liked me I don’t know what I would say. So I don’t even know what I want from you.

Confusing thoughts aside, I’d like to thank you for talking to me and for being my friend. For noticing when I sat alone cause my best friend didn’t come to school and I felt out of place with my friends. For checking on me then and making sure I was fine. Thank you and all the best with your getting her to like you(I think you’re making progress).

Sincerely, me.

She’s been writing letters to herself

Ever since she was nine

Trying to convince herself

To stay alive

~ “I guess it worked, I mean her ghost still writes”

Dear Grandpa,

I wish I got to tell you how much you meant to me. I was always nervous about talking to you, not because I was afraid of you. I was more nervous in the same way someone gets nervous when they meant their favourite baseball player or favourite actor. You were the man that I always wanted to be like. You were the bravest and toughest person I know. I could only imagine what it would like to grow up in a land where you don't speak the language and have those people hate because of it. Being forced to work in the fields and building roads at 11, while the great depression looms on. Then storming the beaches of Normandy at 17. What's not to admire.

Those are the stories that I tell most people. What I haven't told anyone or even realized myself until now. Is that I really loved that you were never afraid to be yourself. You wore your heart on your sleeve. Even when it got you into trouble. You understood what true freedom means (as cliche as it sounds) being yourself. Our ancestors roamed the endless Eurasian steppes simply because they could. Now we can't do that, but you taught me that true freedom is living honestly. Or at the very least, not being who others want you to be.

Your loving Grandson,

Andrew

Dear George Clooney,

Huge fan. But so what? You have a million of those. Maybe a million enemies too. But thata's not important right now.

You listen here, Mister. That bat symbol in "Batman Forever" did nothing for the franchise. But you did.

You were a solid Bruce Wayne. No homo. As Jerry Seinfeld would say, "not that there's anything wrong with that."

But the peak of your performances for me was "Good Night and Good Luck" which you directed and starred in. It changed me. The honor and homage you paid to your father the journalist in your treatise of Edward R. Murrow and his "fight" with Senator Joseph McCarthy, was nothing short of a glorious masterpiece.

So you'll get nothing but high praise from me, my friend.

-Emmanuel Williams

p.s. Between you and me; they're not tights if they're leather, am I right?

Dear Mama,

Are you guys really dead?

Or we are the dead ones to you,

Because I know death is not dying,

But just a mere exit to a better living,

How do you all cope with death while missing all the pleasures of life,

Or is there a greater pleasure in the afterlife,

Do you guys miss your loves ones like they miss you,

Or you just feel sad because they are still stuck in this imperfect world,

Is the grave really a cold place,

Do you perceive the smell when your body decay,

Do you ever wish to come back or you wish you had left earlier than you did,

Do you feel sad that you're dead or you feel happy that you've achieved eternal life, immortality

What happens to your wishes and dreams,

Do they die with you or they are finally accomplished,

When you become ghosts, why don't you come back home to live,

Do you still remember or you forget your family,

Do celebrities, Royals, and wealthy people have a special place prepared for them when they die,

Or as death is the same for all men so are our places equal in the afterlife,

What happens to you guys when you're finally forgotten by all in the land of the living,

Does your existence depends on your memories in the land of the living,

If death is opposite life and heaven is the opposite of hell,

Why don't the living and the dead coexist here on earth as Heaven and hell do over there,

I used to think laughter was the best medicine,

But it's death who truly cures and heals one from everything.