Hah. This being only a few hours later, I imagine you're all quite happy to see this. Thank you guys for all your support, the claims of originality are wonderful, I'm glad you all like it and think it's new. It reminds me of Message in a Bottle and the Lake house, only without the time travel and death... hah. Anyway. Here's the second one!

There is a poll in my profile about Lucidity, because I'm really pretty torn about it.

Chapter Two: Edward Cullen

Visiting my father and mother on the coast was always something I looked forward to. Dad was an accomplished doctor, but he liked to use his services in smaller towns. London already had enough big named doctors, and Mum had retired from architecture many years ago. They still looked forward to her blueprints and opinions, but she rarely left the small town by the sea. I brought my best friend Emmett with me this time. It was our first chance for a vacation in months. Emmett and I both worked as editors in a large publishing house and we were both planning big releases from some of our more renowned writers.

Now that that was finished, I thought it was just the right time to pay a visit to my wonderful parents.

They had no idea we were coming, of course. Emmett pulled his jeep up to their cottage and beeped the horn loudly while I jumped out. I opened the door with a "Honey I'm home!" And the next thing I heard were my mothers' screams, running from the kitchen to grab me. Her face was alight with happiness and she jumped up and down more than I had ever seen. Dad was sitting in his armchair reading and grinned widely when he looked up to see me.

"I'm so happy you're here!" Mum yelled. "I've just finished making dinner. You must come in. Oh! Emmett's here too! Carlisle, come say Hello to your son!" Dad clapped his hand on my shoulder and led me to the kitchen where Mum plopped one of my favourite dishes down in front of me. Emmett and I ate what felt like twelve meals before she was satisfied. We sat down to have a drink with Dad when the evening news came on. We talked for hours about our jobs, some of the books we'd had to read and listened to Dad's stories of the hospital.

After a few drinks, and a few more friends had arrived it began to feel too hot and stuffy in the house. "Excuse me," I said to the room as I stood, stretching. "I think I'm going to go have a quick walk, if that's alright." Dad nodded, smiling and watched me leave.

My parents lived just across the street from the beach. You could hear the water when you were trying to sleep at night, and you could smell the sea in the air from out on the highway. It was one of my favourite places to be. Growing up here had made it the best time of my life, and I had so many memories on this beach.

I followed the steps already planted into the sand, watching as they danced away from the waves, twirling in circles. Two different set of feet. Two people spending their evening at the beach in happiness with one another. In my 25 years, I had yet to find a relationship that made my insides squirm with happiness, making me want to spend every single day with someone. Sure, I'd had girlfriends. Sure, I'd had my fair share of wonderful nights, but it wasn't anything worth remembering. It was nothing so amazing and wonderful that I'd spend the rest of my life trying to find someone to match, or exceed.

I had never truly fallen in love.

It seemed such a fickle thing, I thought as I bent down to pick up a bottle from the sand. It's given so easily and can be taken away so quickly. People these days toss it around like hand-me-downs. I wanted something like my parents had, something lasting, something memorable.

It took me until then to realise that the bottle in my hand wasn't just litter in the sand. It was a letter, pieces of paper folded inside, and it was heavily sealed against the ocean's waters. I searched around for anyone nearby. All of the neighbours were elderly couples, or grown up families. The tracks in the sand were half washed away, and it looked as if this bottle had only tumbled onto the beach a little while ago, no less than an hour.

Curious, I took it with me back to the house, where people were piling out in droves to head back home. I waited outside the door for them to leave, smiling politely and wishing them well. Then, I quickly excused myself to bed. My room was small, as it had been growing up. there was enough room for a large desk, my single bed and a small television was set on the desktop. I could hear Emmett snoring through the wall near my bed but took it as a good sign for me to get this work done.

Mum poked her head in after I'd changed out of my clothes, into a loose fitting pair of pants for bed. I'd tucked the bottle into one of the drawers until she went to sleep. Dad followed soon after. For some reason, I wanted this letter to be mine, mine alone. I didn't want to have to share it with my family or friends, get their opinions on it. This could be some stranger from Canada, Cuba, anywhere. Once there was quiet echoing through the house I turned on the television to a late night talk show, turning the volume down low.

In the drawer I found the bottle and my grandfather's old pocket knife. I used that to pry through the wax and to pull out the cork. After some fancy finger work I managed to pull out all of the letter, and I placed the bottle back into the drawer. I flattened out the papers and looked over the pages, the same elegant script carrying throughout them all.

March 25th, 2007

Dear... You.

I have no idea who you are, if you're a twelve year old child in South Africa or some Mobster in Italy. In any case, I am going to pour out my heart to you.

My name is Isabella Marie Swan, Bella if you please. I'm 23 years old, I own my own company, and I have never been in love. I also have terrible health.

Since I was small I've been in and out of hospitals. My illness in fact, is a lack of an immune system, although now I've built up enough to stay healthy longer. I'm proud to say that today should be my last day in the hospital for a long time.

After I finished college, my friends and I began a catering business. I do most of the preparation at home, and they finish it at the job, like they should, and serve it. My house is gigantic, but the main level I've converted into a bakery. I back bread and deserts fresh each day, and can do specialty deserts for whatever you want. Name it. Bat mitzvah? Anniversary? Thank-God-the-boss-is-gone party? No problem! Just give me a ring or drop by with whatever you want, I'm your girl.

Anyway. As I've said before, I've never been in love. I don't know about you, but I don't think it's such an easy thing to find. If you've got your special someone, if you've felt real love, then I applaud you. I find it maddeningly hard to find, and I'm beginning to lose hope. I've seen so many people toss love away like it's something they can find anywhere. People dating for weeks will whisper an 'I love you' on their porch at night, but I'm not sure they really realise just how important thing it is.

Now, I've had boyfriends, I've been on lots of dates, had all the experiences, but none of them were love, real love. Love is something that lasts, which clearly, due to my single status, I haven't found. I know this may take months to get to anyone, it may even just get to a few states before it washes ashore, but I guarantee, that by the time you get it and (if you choose to) reply to me, I will still be single.

I'm lonely now. Not just in the sense that I have no one to share my heart with, like I am with you, but the fact that I've been left alone. I moved outside of the city, away from my family, and they visit when they can. My friends make their base here, but they're not here all the time. Whenever they have to go out to a job, I'm here by myself. It is better for my health if I am here, to stay out of trouble, but it is definitely not good for my sanity. My best friends Alice and Jasper have been together since high school. Don't tell anyone, but he's about to propose. Rosalie is a drop dead gorgeous woman, she can have anyone she wants, but similarly hasn't found that spark. At least she's free to leave her house, and mine.

After my whining about love, I'm not sure what else to say. God? Are you religious? If so, I'm sorry but, no offense to you, I think that worship is a little overrated. Sure, I'd like to believe there's someone out there watching over us, but I find it highly unlikely. My biggest fear is that God actually does it exist, he just doesn't care too much for us anymore.

President Bush stinks. I think Santa should stop skipping Africa, and honestly? It's great that America is doing all these charity things for different countries, poverty wise and everything, but don't you think they should do something for the people in their own country too? Perhaps it's the same where you are. I don't know. I'm rambling and filling space, or wastng paper, killing trees. It all depends on how you look at it.

I live in a big beach house. I'm going to find someone who's going sailing to send this out for me, so hopefully I've given you enough to talk to me with. Goodness knows I need some more excitement in my life. Mail aside from electric bills would be nice.

I like music a lot. You can strike up another conversation about that, if need be.

Truly,

Bella, from America.

I was amazed. Below was her address. I was staring open mouthed at this letter, the noise still coming from Emmett's room and the television.

It was late. I knew I should sleep. Tomorrow I'd promised to spend the day with my parents, running errands and visiting, but I was so enthralled, so interested by what this woman had said, that I could not wait to write. I reached into another drawer and pulled out a few sheets of paper and a pen. I began to write, with every intention of mailing it out as soon as we got back to London.

Yeah, you should all review again. It makes me a happy camper. Not to mention, I've got the next chapter written, and I'm still writing. heh!