- - : Post your Open Letters below and your writing may be posted on The Open Mailbox! Handwritten letters may be submitted as images with an accompanying title. Pen Names are optional.
An Open Letter to My Once Beloved Bike
All of my friends had really nice bikes..
I looked and looked for a very long time.. Trying to find the one that was right for me. Their bikes were all very shiny and new. Original, unique, etc.. But then there you were. You were the bike everybody used when something was wrong with theirs. Every time someone used you for a quick ride somewhere, they were sure not to appreciate you.. They didn't want to be seen in public riding on you.. and for good reason.
I didn't see that in you. I saw potential. I could take this bicycle and clean it up.. Make it presentable. Maybe people would respect me when I take it out. Maybe people would see the beauty that could have been, had they given it the chance.
I worked hard. Hours turned to days. Days into weeks. Weeks turned to months.. and finally.. There she was. My beautiful bicycle. I loved her dearly.. she truly had been cleaned up and made presentable. I would take her for rides all the time, and boy, did I feel special. It wasn't like when I used to ride it and feel half way ashamed.. almost to the point of needing to shower afterward. No, this was a new feeling.
I felt for once that everything about her was special.. Then one day I came home from work to find that people had been sneaking over and stealing my bike.. Using it for rides again. They kept it in good physical condition. She had no evidence of other riders.. but I caught her. I caught her in the act.
I tried to clean her up again.
It didn't work.
I used the bike all the time.. years passed.
She had the chance to be cherished...
Now, no matter how beautiful her appearance is... she is still that rusty, shameful neighborhood bike.
An Open Letter to My Cat
Dear fluffy shnookums,
I realize that, as a cat, your English isn't perfect; however, did I not repeatedly TELL you after I made tea that the stove was still hot? And that I didn't want you to walk on it just now? And, not five minutes later, what did you do? Oh, that's right, you decided to be a badass and strut over the stove and step on the still-hot burner. You weren't such a badass after that.
However, you now look so adorably forlorn that I can't help but feel that "maternal instinct" to baby you, give you one of your favorite full-body rubs, and tell you that everything's going to be okay. Your paw will be fine, baby boy - it's not even blistered, and you're already batting stuff around with it. But we'll keep an eye on it.
Putting you to bed before anything else happens tonight,
P.S. Yes, I know your paw smells like singed fur and you don't like it, but there's really not much I can do about that.
An Open Letter to 'the Coolest Cool'
My Coolest Cool,
How have you been?
Great, I know. You’re always doing great.
And that’s amazing, really. I love the way life smiles at your pretty face, I love the way your pretty face smiles. It’s all about your pretty face, to be honest. That’s how this all started, anyway.
When I first met you I recall you as a quite snobbish laid-back guy with a contagious spark, who smiled as a child. You’re like two meters tall, which I adore. I noticed that at first sight too. Nevertheless, what made me hold the stare were your glowing eyes, the perfect symmetry of your features, your incredibly beautiful nose (I have a thing for noses) and well, that startling smile of yours. You’re so charming, my dearest Elvis Presley/James Dean reincarnation!
I never had a chance, did I? I was destined to love you. I was destined to lose you. You’re way too stunning to be with me.
The worst part is that I know you love me too. I can see it in your eyes. That’s what pains me the most. You won’t admit it. And, I mean, I get it. You have a reputation to protect. You can have ANY girl that you want, so why me when you could have any of those tall, skinny and blonde girls that never get tired of stalking you and posting silly stuff on your Facebook wall?
And it’s not low self-esteem what makes me say this things, I know I’m attractive and smart and creative and successful. But I wasn’t made in the “classic beauty mold”. And I’ve got some extra pounds, size 8 to be precise. Not exactly what you’re looking for. And still, you can’t help it and love me too.
You know what? It’s fine. I’m ok. If you had given me a real chance, I might have loved you all my life. I would have married you and we could have danced to “Can’t Help Falling In Love” by Elvis in our wedding and bought some imitations of Magritte’s and Dali’s famous paintings for our living room and discussed social theories and psychological phenomena around us while listening to indie music and laughed at memes on the internet while you played the guitar and watched art cinema and taken hipster pictures everywhere and composed our own love song. But you chose otherwise, and that’s ok.
Want to know why? Because I would have followed you anywhere. I could have given up my dreams just so you could fulfill yours. I would have given up Manhattan and Paris and stayed here with you to be the trophy wife my mother hates so much. I would have had your children because, even though I’m not into kids, they would have been ours and they could have been so beautiful! So thank you for freeing me from it. Thank you for giving me the chance of getting out of this little town and take over the world.
I don’t know if I’ll ever find a guy so appealing physically and intellectually as you for me. If you ask me right now, I’ll assure you I won’t. I can’t imagine anyone better than you for me. But clearly, you’re not my soulmate. Clearly you don’t love me as much as I think you do because, if you did, you would show. Or maybe you do love me as much but you just don’t have the courage, and that’s way worst. I hate cowards.
I did the craziest things for you; I don’t think I’ve ever tried so hard with anyone before. But you see, I love you. I’m madly and deeply in love with you.
However, I’ve decided to stand up for myself, because I do deserve better. On “Perks of being a wallflower” they say something like: “We accept the love we think we deserve”. I’ve been accepting nothing and I’ve been giving to you every single thing. I can’t go on like this. I’m extinguishing.
So this is goodbye, my Coolest Cool. For real. I won’t ever try to get you back or even have the crazy idea of getting in shape and being size zero just so you’re comfortable enough to introduce me to your friends. I’ve had that one before. Way too many times.
But, the thing is, if I do change, I’ve got to do it for myself! Not for you. Not for your conditioned love.
I’m leaving for New York this summer. I’m leaving for New York and I won’t be back until December. Enough time for me to get rid of your memory. Enough time for you to find another fool who’ll love you as much as I do and who you’ll only use to reinforce your ego.
Take care, my coolest cool.
You’ve been my brightest star all along. And you can’t fall in love with a star. That’s just crazy. You’ll never reach it. It barely sees you.
Goodbye for once and for all.
Not yours anymore,
Some unconditional fool
An Open Letter to the Leith Police Station Automated Telephone Answering Service
Dear robotic voice,
Having spent the past twenty minutes waiting for someone at Leith police station to pick up a telephone I have decided to abandon the idea and try writing a letter instead. It is faster. Perhaps you would be so kind as to pass this message on to your colleagues in Leith by means of smoke signal, carrier pigeon or ouji board.
As I'm writing this letter there are eleven failed medical experiments (I think you call them youths) in West Cromwell Street which is just off Commercial Street in Leith. Six of them seem happy enough to play a game which involves kicking a football against an iron gate with the force of a meteorite. This causes an earth shattering CLANG! Which rings throughout the entire building. This game is now in it's third week and as I am unsure how the scoring system works, I have no idea if it will end any time soon.
The remaining five walking abortions are happily rummaging through several bags of rubbish and items of furniture that someone has so thoughtfully dumped beside the wheelie bins. One of them has found a saw and is setting about a discarded chair like a beaver on speed. I fear that it's only a matter of time before they turn their limited attention to the bottle of calor gas that is lying on it's side between the two bins. If they could be relied on to only blow their own arms and legs off then I would happily leave them to it. I would even go so far as to lend them the matches. Unfortunately they are far more likely to blow up half the street with them and I've just finished decorating the kitchen.
What I suggest is this. After replying to this letter with worthless assurances that the matter is being looked into and will be dealt with, why not leave it until the one night of the year (probably bath night) when there are no mutants around then drive up the street in a panda car before doing a three point turn and disappearing again. This will of course serve no other purpose than to remind us what policemen actually look like.
I trust that when I take a claw-hammer to the skull of one of these throwbacks you'll do me the same courtesy of giving me a four month head start before coming to arrest me.
I remain, sir, your obedient servant.
An Open Letter to an Amazing Little Girl
You told me you think I'm the prettiest girl ever and that no one should ever hurt me. You color my shoes with rainbows and hearts, and you like to help me with my art projects. You're like the little sister I'll never have, which is really cool, because it means that I won't ever get tired of you because I don't live with you.
I don't think you realize quite how much you make my life better. Because I don't think you know how bad my life actually is for me. I'm bisexual and my parents don't support being anything but straight. I'm dealing with depression and I'm starting counseling on the 20th, I've made loads of mistakes and I've lied about all of them. I think I'm the ugliest girl in the world and I shouldn't even be allowed to be alive. I lost my best friend two months ago today to suicide and he was the only thing keeping me alive.
I really, really hope that if I ever do decide to pull the trigger and just let go Miss Tessa, that you'll understand that I can't take all this pressure. I hope that all your dreams will come true and you'll always be treated like the princess you are. I hope you'll keep drawing rainbows and hearts all over everything. I hope you can do everything I'm too scared to do. I hope you can come out and be the person you want to be. Because I know how hard it is if you don't show your true self to everyone. I hope you can always beat your problems and learn from your mistakes.
I love you Tessa, you're the best little girl in the world.
And right now, you're the only thing that's keeping me from falling off the edge.
I love seeing you at church and I hope I'll always see you there.
You hold more of my heart than anyone ever has, even if you don't know it.
Keep on shining.
An Open Letter to My Little Lion Man
My dearest Little Lion Man,
Let me start by apologizing for writing my feelings down on the internet instead of saying the following words to your face, but, can you blame me? No, you know you can't.
I won't say it's all your fault or mine, there were both of our hearts on the line and we both fucked it up too many times. Nevertheless, I miss you(r)/(,) love. I've run out of complicated theories and I don't know how to justify my actions anymore. I'm the oldest, I should have known better than this. You're like a little boy. You learn by example; and you mimicked every single move I made.
I was the one who started to hold the stares. I was the one who started to smile. And you just followed. But then again, I was the one who stopped talking to you. I was the one who began looking at the cell phone every time you were nearby so I didn't have to talk to you and actually acknowledge your existence. And what did you do? Follow.
I crave you, Little Lion Man. Please; I'm begging you, follow this time as well. I crave your smell on the air, I crave your face on the landscape, I crave the light of your eyes late at night, I crave your little kid smile, I crave your unshaved beard brushing my cheeks and I crave your wacky hair below my fingertips. And your humming. And your singing. And your dancing. And your playing. And you, Little Lion Man. I crave you.
Whisper to me. Talk to me. Shout at me. Tell me how you’re feeling for I can’t help but imagine conversations between you and me over and over again, some more optimistic than others.
Are you happy as for now? Do you miss me like I do? Come and get me, come and get me, come and get me! For I feel like I can’t move on, for I’m afraid you’d come looking for me and I might miss you. Or should I go get you? Give me a sign and I will. Or should I go without any sign whatsoever?
We’re wasting time here. We’re growing older. What if one of us gets cancer unexpectedly? What if one of us has got to move away? What if one of us dies in a car accident and we never got to love each other properly? What do you want? An ultimatum? What for, baby, what for… It’d be too late.
I’m a coward. You’re a coward. We’re both fools.
I dreamt about you last night, and the night before, and one before that one.
I love you.
There, I said it. I accept it. I love you. I LOVE YOU. I L O V E Y O U.
Now let me kiss the tips of your eyelashes and bite your lower lip, and sing you all these songs in your ear. Let me awake your soul while you do likewise.
I love you, Little Lion Man. Always have and, If you allow me to, always will.
A Famous Love Letter Written by Mark Twain to His Dearest Livy
I have already mailed to-day`s letter, but I am so proud of my privilege of writing the dearest girl in the world whenever I please, that I must add a few lines if only to say I love you, Livy. For I do love you, Livy...as the dew loves the flowers; as the birds love the sunshine; as the wavelets love the breeze; as mothers love their first-born; as memory loves old faces; as the yearning tides love the moon; as the angels love the pure in heart...
Take my kiss and my benediction, and try to be reconciled to the fact that I am
P.S.-- I have read this letter over and it is flippant and foolish and puppyish. I wish I had gone to bed when I got back, without writing. You said I must never tear up a letter after writing it to you and so I send it.
Burn it, Livy. I did not think I was writing so clownishly and shabbily. I was in much too good a humor for sensible letter writing.
Samuel Clemens (Mark Twain)