Hello, my dear Lost Girl-ers. I don't know what this is. I'm just trying something out here. Maybe it sucks maybe it doesn't. I wish you all a happy Christmas and take good care of yourselves.

First letter. Friday24th of March 2:03 am. Bo.

"Hey,

Or better 'Hi'. 'Hello'? I don't even know how to start. I haven't written a letter since, I can't even remember. You must think 'What the heck. Why would she write me, if she didn't even know how?'. That's fine. I thought the same and yet I'm typing my ass off. This is my first try. Second tops. I started writing disconnected phrases on my napkin the other night when I was waiting for my fiancé to come back from the dancefloor.

(With her eyeliner. She'd kill me if she ever found out.)

It wasn't a letter. So it doesn't count. Not in my head. More like a mix of drawings and undefinable words.

Yeah, right? Pathetic. But is it? I'm not a dancer nor do I drink. I sit. I wait. I crack a smile. Conversations? Impossible. Too loud and way to slurred from some point on. And the smell of beer and sweat all around me. I do it for her. She loves dancing. And drinking. She drinks a lot. But that's also fine. I don't mind driving her home. At least I think I do.

If you were here now and we had a real face to face conversation you could have heard my sigh.

Sometimes I wonder about things. Nothing too space-y, just things. Have you ever been walking down a street, looking at the people passing you and wondered 'Where do you go to? What is you next mission?' Not like mission in life, just like groceries shopping or something daily life-y. It's funny though. It is, because it let me right to where I am now. Sitting on my unmade bed, naked, writing on my laptop. Yeah well, I am not sure how I happen to be naked in the first place. I think I wanted to take a shower. But I did only make it that far. Getting out of my clothes.

I found your newspaper advertising yesterday or the day before since it's already past twelve. Depends on how you look at it. I haven't slept yet, so, is the past day over just because the clockhand says so? But I digress. Your headline thrilled me the second I spotted it. 'Penpal needed'. I don't know why, since I don't do letters. I mean, seriously, I didn't even know that was still a thing. Penpal. In the year 2017, who writes letters with a pen. No email address. Just a post office box. A number. No Name, no personal address. So, here comes my imagination into play. And I wonder.

I hope you don't mind a non-handwritten-penpal, too. Handwriting tells a lot about a person I've heard. But what is there left to find out then? If you could read me like an open book because you are one of those experts analyzing my illegible scrawl. Maybe you're just curious if my characteristics are similar to what you could see in the letters I wrote. I mean, if we ever meet in person. If we ever make it that far. Maybe it's some kind of science project. Maybe you're a scientist. With a white lab coat. That would be kind of awesome, actually.

I don't even know you. You don't even know me. Is that the whole thing behind this here? Do you want to know me? Do you want to know people? Is this a test?

Gosh what am I doing? I should sleep. Maybe I won't even send that letter. It's too humiliating. Naked writing. I could delete that part and some of the others, but then there would simply be the 'Hey' and a white page until the 'Bye' would round it up and bring it to an end. With 'it' I mean the letter. Which wouldn't be one. So, there'd be nothing to send anyway.

I really should go and take that shower now. It's late and even though I should be tired my head is still uploading pictures and makes me feel weird in my body.

I don't even have a printer.

Anyway,

Bye"