“Someone has been trying to send me a message for weeks—my car keys missing, pyramids of coins stacked neatly in corners, lamps turned on I know I’ve shut off, toast crumbs on the counter make the profile of a face.The scuttling in the attic does not sound animal—when I climb up there’s old insulation, inches of dust and this heaviness I can’t shake.If I could mail one letter to the dead, it would be a chain letter—Send this to the ten people you loved the most— to see if it returned to me.”

“I know I’m one royal screw up, and god knows there’s nothing I could ever do to deserve you,” he began, taking my hand in his after sliding the ring free from the chain. “But I want you, Lucy Larson. Bad. I want you forever. The kind of bad I have for you isn’t the kind that goes away.” His forehead lined, his eyes washing silver. “Ease my suffering. Make me the happiest, most tortured man in the world. Marry me?”

“When we read Paul, we are reading somebody else’s mail—and unless we know the situation being addressed, his letters can be quite opaque...It is wise to remember that when we are reading letters never intended for us, any problems of understanding are ours and not theirs.”

“Ryann… I love you. Do you not love me back' I swallow at that and try to fight back the emotions that I had just been thinking. I know that I do love him but I also know that this, me leaving, was the best thing for him. I am awful for him and I would never be good enough for this wonderful man whom stands in front of me. I can’t force the words out of my mouth so I simply just shake my head 'no'. I can see in his eyes that the lack of words that I used hurt him just as much as any words I could have said.”

“People are heavy when they're dead. I also nearly ralphed every time I caught a glimpse of the skin flap flapping, and I'd seen enough CSI to know that my stomach contents could be used to link me to the site.”

“By writing this, knowing  that there was a chance he'd read it, i was up to my old tricks. Was I not sending an open letter hoping for some kind of response, in return?”

“You're gone. No mailing address.But I send you letters anyway.”