Dear Charlie,

I have decided to write this letter to you to confide a small piece of myself in someone else. I once read a book about a mouse who went on adventures, then I read about a fantasy place to call home, I read about the cruelties of life, right now I read about doing something unexpected. I feel like these stories keep me grounded, they remind me that I probably don't have the worst of it, even when I do.

Something I have come to understand since my time on this earth is that I am not like everyone else, and no I don't mean in that i'm-special or i'm-awkward way. I mean that I see things differently, understand much more, yet also understand much less. This may sound like I am just writing random lines that will probably never make sense to anyone but me, and maybe I am, but the point is that I am writing them. I am here, even if no one can see me, and I won't forget that.

I write to you because you are someone I read about, someone who doesn't exist, yet I know you. It doesn't matter that maybe no one will ever read this, because I know you will. I know I sound a little crazy, speaking to someone as if they exist when they clearly don't. Charlie, you are really anyone willing to listen, someone to tell my secrets to and someone I know will never tell. One day, I might write a real book and you will reconise me in the words, but I will never tell.

Love Always, N.S.D.