Pen Pal

Dear Dante,

I hope this letter finds you well. I’m not so well, myself. Actually, I think I’ve blown past unwell and landed squarely in Crazytown, USA, where I’m currently running for mayor.

Have you ever felt like your life is out of your control? Like there are unseen forces pulling the strings, and you’re just a puppet dancing around helplessly, getting jerked this way and that?

That’s how I feel. Helpless. Lost in a storm.

Also more than a little pathetic because the only person I can talk to about my problems is someone I’ve never even met. Who is currently incarcerated for reasons unknown to me. Who might be a serial killer for all I know. (That wasn’t a dig. I’m just pointing out facts.)

Though it’s probably better this way. I doubt I could tell someone I know that a fortune teller named Destiny told me I have psychic baggage, my housekeeper is trying to convince me I’m being haunted, and I’m seriously entertaining the idea of having a séance because nothing “normal” makes sense anymore. Normal went out the window when my husband died.

Also…I’m falling in love.

It’s only happened to me once before, so I’m not much of an expert on the subject. All I know is that I feel incredible when I’m with him and like shit when I’m not. I love making him smile, and I hate making him sad. Which, unfortunately, I seem to have a knack for.

I’m all messed up, Dante. Do you have any words of wisdom for me?

Sincerely,

Kayla