At the small coffee table in the living room, I marveled at my discovery.

It was just way too good to be true.

Congratulating myself, I couldn't help but feel like Sherlock Holmes as I beamed at the tiny piece of paper.

Except I wasn't solving any top-notch cases for Scotland Yard.

I was a young child who had stumbled upon a note from a few months prior in my father's antique armoire.

An address.

Johnny's address.

Hugging the note to my chest, I praised the universe for giving me such great luck.

Angels were either singing in their choir or my dad had just turned on the radio by accident.

Either way, I was on cloud nine.

My eyes peered out the long window that extended up to one-third of the wall on the right.

It was a dreary November morning as the storm clouds gathered and twirled ominously over the tops of the trees.

Just reminding everyone and everything that they were there and that they would not be forgotten.

I could practically taste the electricity in the air.

So much excitement.

Even the sky was celebrating with me!

Why Daddy had to work out there for the most part of the day was beyond me.

Winter was creeping it's way through the slits under the doorway.

Breathing like a ravenous, livid beast.

The darkness was coming, and it would soon be here before anyone could blink.

The chill loved to roll along with the soles of everyone's feet, taunting them by grasping onto their heels.

This winter was as sure as rain that morning that it was going to be a bitter fight for survival.

Somehow, I enjoyed the cold.

It seemed so exhilarating to race in.

So hilarious when Daddy would exclaim his complaints after I'd throw a snowball at the back of his practically bald head.

So otherworldly when everything was covered in white blankets of frost and ice.

Icicles were like nature's homemade Popsicles.

And snow angels across the entire yard may have been a chore, but gazing at them from the porch during the call of night made it feel like the world was in harmony.

Someone out there was watching over Daddy and I, causing the atmosphere to feel that much more comforting.

It seemed as if I hadn't even stood up when I replaced myself on the floor before the table.

This was it, the moment of truth.

White, blank sheets of paper challenged me as I gripped the pencil the way I was taught.

It may have been years before I finished that letter, or it may have just been a few minutes.

Words

So many words there were.

Questions

So many left unanswered after he disappeared.

----Different POV----

Difficult to imagine that after so many years and so many moves, that I'd still remember the look on Lost Girl's face when mother fled from the place like it was the plague.

How was she to get along without me?

I mean, it wasn't like I was the ruler of her life, yet she did observe me like I was some kind of saint.

Yeah, but that's understandable.

Who's to say that I'm not a saint?

I could be if I wanted to be.

Besides, the whole world would benefit from it.

So why not? I'll become a saint.

When I grow up, I'm gonna be somebody so great that everyone will know my name.

As of now, however, I need to know how she is.

Honestly, my curiosity is going to be my downfall one of these days if I don't get it under control.

Bah, why did that matter?

Control was for those who were kidding themselves.

As if self-control could really exist! Haha!!

Her handwriting has become so neat.

I breathed in every single particle of that plain envelope until I was fooled into believing that this message was sent from God.

In spite of that, I briskly fidgeted.

Way too impatient.

My Queen can't rule if I don't know her wishes.

The letter with the three words "For Lonely Boy" scrawled on the unopened envelope, surged in my hands.

The power of only a few years.

Anticipation grabbed me by the collar as it dragged me to my room, past my silent sister whom still dressed up her dolls.

In the confines of my safe zone, where anything could happen (primarily; wars, spy missions, and galaxy exploring), I read the words of a whispered memory.

My heart strangled itself in my throat due to the first three words.

----No Particular POV----

Lost girl and Lonely Boy

How could you?

It wasn't my choice.

You didn't even call.

Mother wouldn't let me use the phone.

You didn't even write.

I was sure that you wouldn't want to hear from me.

You said we'd be together forever.

It seems, that I can't control my own life.
It's complicated.

I miss you so much. Everything is different without you here.

Same on my end.

I wish you were here.

I'll never forget you.

I've met so many new people.

Like who?

They're all pretty weird. But not as weird as you.

You're one to talk.

Still, something seems to be missing.

You're always lost.

Daddy seems off.

Hm?

Mother still cries when she believes I'm not around.

. . . . . . .?

Mr. Hops doesn't seem to bounce as high as he used to.

You still have that frog?

I've met a boy who smiles way too much.

Being around you, I'm not surprised.

How are you?

Same old me.

I wonder sometimes, "What is he doing now a days?"

I've met new people as well.
Mother seems to be doing better.
My sister still plays with dolls.
It's like the only thing she does.
Overall, I'd have to admit,

I've moved on . . .

I've learned so much for my age.

Hmph

At least that's what I'm told.

*Smiling in amusement*

I know that there is a huge chance that we'll never see each other again.

Tear stains scattered after the words. They ruined some of the writing after that sentence, leaving Lonely Boy in disbelief.

To think that their bond was that strong.

That it had strength enough to transform the rest of the words into gibberish.

He gently brushed his fingers over the paper, lost in his own world to which there was no point of return.

I . . . I, uh . . .

Dad keeps telling me that when people are gone, it is better to pick up the pieces and move on.

I don't want you to cry for me.

Please move on.

I will, but somehow I know that I'll always have some part of you in my memory.

Someday, I'll write it down.

I hope you have a wonderful life! :)

I hope the same for you.

You'll never be found will you?

I think that is why I love you.

You'll never change. You keep on wandering in your own distant cloud. Far away from everyone else.

See ya later, stupid.

Know-it-all

Ugly

Beautiful

Lonely boy

Lost Girl

Goodbye

. . . . . .

His mother examined the table with all of its trash.

Wrinkled lines etched the years and despair into her face.

Words she couldn't speak, raced in her mind along with the growing migraine that beat it's drums against her temples and behind her hollowed eyes.

Her shoulders slouched in ways of utter defeat. As if someone had bent them to disrepair years prior.

Her grin was permanently pasted to her lips to hide the scars of suffering from her children and the rest of the world.

Those eyes.

Those misunderstood eyes.

If the sandpaper in her throat could be quenched, she'd scream to the whole world the actual, gospel truth.

But the world didn't fancy the idea.

It kept on force-feeding her the reasons to why she should keep quiet.

Blackmailing her with the broken memories.

Junk mail, wrappers, cards from guys asking her out (they were probably all a bunch of jerks. Just like that one . . .), bills that weren't yet payed, and a miscellaneous of others.

In that moment, no one knows exactly what happened.

Except for the rumors that the wind spread nervously to every ear to hear.
She had an epiphany.

No more running from my problems. No more garbage cluttering the table. No more crying over my husband's absence. No more stupid, temporary jobs. No more asking for help from filthy men.

No more

No more . . .

Almost everything resting there, except for the important bills, was thrown into the trash bag.

She threw it all blindly after setting aside the stack established as important.

Too bad that the mini, amateurish letter addressed to a certain "Lost Girl" was lost itself before the time came for it to be mailed.

Lost Girl never read the counterpart to her letter.

Fire was set by the mother's rage, erasing the carefully written response.

Erasing the unneeded memories.

And the letter itself disappeared into oblivion.