Ours is a love story written in the stars.
At first, the letters are for herself, tucked away in the bottom drawer of her bedside table under carefully-folded shirts, tucked away in the corners of her heart.
At first, they’re notes in her journal, scrawling down her happiest memories from primary and middle school between the ruled lines. She puts her thoughts to paper, of fond smiles and wind-tousled hair and an arm slung loosely around her shoulder.
