Was listening to my DFTBA compilation album a lot... Woo, two updates in a day go me! I own nothing.
DAYDREAMS BY KAEZIE
I wrote you a letter in cursive and sent it by post
I paid extra shipping, should arrive in a week at the most
I wrote of how life's been this summer while you were away
I wrote of the silence the twilight cicadas made fade
I wrote of my daydreams while laying in soft dewy grass
I watched them play out in the clouds that the wind blew past
The dewy grass caressed her dress and prickled her skin. Molly attempted to blow the hair in her mouth away but just ended up blowing a raspberry. Sighing in defeat she pulled the strands away with her hand. She was lying on her back, looking at the sunrisen sky. The pinks were turning to blue and the clouds were swirling wisps and Molly wasn't paying attention. Her mind was skipping through her memories and dreams and elaborating on her favourites. Her favourites always seemed to contain Sherlock. A thought occurred to her and she sat up and retrieved her forgotten bag. She had taken to carrying that bag around with her everywhere. She pulled out the paper, fountain pen and large book she always carried. Lying down again, and flipping onto her belly, she rested the paper on the book.
At the beginning, when he'd first left, she always had trouble thinking what to write. Nothing happened to her without him. There was no point discussing anything she'd read. Letters were an awful format for a science discussion she'd discovered. She wasn't allowed to call, text or email him. Eventually he just encouraged her to write about all the silly things that crossed through her mind.
'These sorts of trivialities' he'd written 'do not usually concern me. However when it comes to you I find myself missing your babblings about little things that crossed your mind. Do not attempt to think up serious conversation. Write to me of your daydreams.'
So she did. At first she'd felt silly, talking about things she'd like to do in the future and pondering on the different ways their lives could twist. But his words had held a genuine sense of relief that he had this intimate part of her to read when he most missed her. So she continued.
'Dearest Sherlock,' she began 'No news to report. Your mother shows no signs of letting you visit as usual. But there are only 33 days left until the summer holidays. Surely you'll be able to come home then? Boarding schools do not let students stay then surely? And if not, I shall find a motorbike or go on a train and rescue you and we can hide away in a cottage somewhere...'
Her letter continued in such a manner. When she was finished she peeled herself away from the dew, took a moment to rue the grass stains on her dress and set off to the post office.
She sent it off as she usually did, with a first class stamp in the red post box.
Molly waited and waited, knowing that he wouldn't have had time to reply yet, he wouldn't even have received hers. Still she leafed through the post everyday hopefully. Lately she'd spent most of her time waiting for his letters. He wrote a lot though, like her. She re-read his letters often, missing him so much it ached.
This time however she never got a reply. The day before he would have received her letter a terrible accident happened at his school. A drunk driver careered onto the school grounds and crashed into the huge oak tree in one of the fields. Sherlock had been reading under that tree.
I wrote you a letter in cursive and sent it by post
Sealed with a kiss
To give to a ghost, a ghost
To give to a ghost, a ghost
You are my ghost