She said she wanted to see the ocean.
I looked up trains. Thursday, 11:20 p.m., slow one, eleven hours twenty minutes.
- - -
We never went.
The ocean is still my lock screen.
How to Write a Love Letter
A love letter fails the moment it declares. "I love you" is a conclusion; a letter should be evidence. Write the things you did, the numbers you remember, the object she left behind — and let the reader convict you.
How to write it: three rules of restrained prose
- Write actions, not feelings. Never "I can't stop thinking about you" — write what you actually did: counted the days, took the long way home, kept the receipt.
- Anchor one number so specific it sounds invented. Not "so long" — "eleven hours and twenty minutes on a slow train." Precision reads as devotion.
- End on an irrelevant detail. Stop before the declaration. The unsaid part is the part she will reread.
Pick the "love letter" mode, put "the person you keep almost texting" in the first field, and let the restraint do the rest.