twenty-seven

                                        

                                              

OCTOBER 10TH, 2019
Dear Vienna, 
This feels strange, writing to you like this. I tried messaging you, only to realize I've been blocked. Fair enough. Honestly, probably a smart move on your part. I even tried Instagram... yeah, I know, "sliding into DMs is why romance is dead," as you once said. But it was all I had left. To which I found out that I can't actually contact you because we dont follow each other.
I have to admit, writing a letter like this? It feels way better in my opinion. There's no pressure to be clever or quick. No little "typing" bubble staring me down. I think I might start doing this more often. Even though my hand already feels like it's about to fall off, it reminds me how dependent I've become on screens and keyboards. Funny how much we rely on something that makes us feel so disconnected.
Anyway, I'm rambling. What I really wanted to say is thank you.
For what you said. For sticking up for me when you didn't have to.
You could've stayed silent, and honestly, no one would've blamed you. If anything, I'm sure people expected you to. Hell, maybe even wanted you to. And here's the part I hate admitting...when I first found out you spoke up, a part of me wished you hadn't.
Is that bad to say? I don't know. I guess I just didn't want you caught up in my mess again. I didn't want your name anywhere near mine, not with everything being thrown around. You've always deserved better than the chaos I come with. And I was scared. Scared that people would come for you. Scared that I'd drag you down just by association.
But it was kind of funny... I was the one jumping on Twitter and now you are. Guess you kind of stole my brand there. 
I want to write more and I have more to write but my hand is cramping so bad right now and if I don't stop then it will for sure fall off. I think I have to write more letters to get used to it. 
Anyways, I'll stop here before I push my wrist into full-on retirement. But if you're still reading this I just wanted to say another thank you and I hope you're doing well. It's been a while. 
Unblock me. Or write me back. Either way, a word from you would be nice.
More soon if my hand survives. 
Zayn.



































































OCTOBER 23RD, 2019
Dear Vienna,
Turns out you moved to New York City? Wow. That was lame of me. I sent you a letter the other week to your old place in L.A. The mail dude looked at me like I was completely off my rocker when he realized I was mailing something to an address only fifteen minutes away. Oh well... 
After writing that last letter, I found myself doing some thinking. Maybe writing letters is actually good for me. It's not like writing music, well, kind of. It makes me feel calm in a different way. 
So yeah, I've decided I'm going to keep writing you. Letters you may never read. Letters that might get lost between cities or tossed in drawers or ignored completely. Still, there's something about doing it that helps. Helps me feel a little more human.