Torn (All Torn Up #1)

by Carian Cole

All she wanted was for me to chase her and hug her. It’s what she does. And I melt every time.

“Nah. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Everyone who knows you knows you’re a good guy. The heart wants what the heart wants, man. We don’t get to pick who we connect with.”

All that matters is you are my forever. You always have been. You always will be.”

We don’t ever text or call, but we do write to each other. It’s what we decided to do. I use my fancy fountain pens and parchment paper, while he sticks to mostly notebook paper and ballpoint pens, and we send them through the mail. It’s romantic. It’s helped build patience. It’s helped us choose our words with care and truth, because writing in ink does that. There is no backspace. There are no abbreviations. We pour our hearts out to each other more than we ever have. We share our fears and dreams with each other on paper in even more depth than we did in person. There is a safety in writing, in putting the words out there and giving the recipient time to absorb, ponder, and reply. He writes me poetry. We fall deeper in love. The space didn’t create distance; it only brought us closer.