One Quiet Letter for When You Miss Someone

This is a public fictional letter from one imagined partner to another. It is for reading, not a notice that somebody is online or waiting in a private chat.

The chair by the window

The chair by the window is empty this evening, and I keep noticing it. Not because something dramatic has happened, but because I remember how you sit there with one foot folded underneath you. You would probably tell me the plant needs water. You would be right. I watered it before starting this letter.

Missing you is full of details like that. It is less like a thunderstorm and more like reaching for a familiar cup that is on a different shelf. The day still happens. Dinner still needs making. Your absence simply has a shape I recognise.

What I would tell you

I would tell you that the bakery has changed its window display. That I finally finished the book I kept carrying around. That something funny happened on the bus, though the story will almost certainly be less funny when I explain it. I miss having somewhere to put these tiny pieces of the day.

But I also hope your own day has been full. I hope you found good company, a decent meal, and a little time that belonged just to you. My fondness does not need to take up every corner of your evening.

No reply required tonight

There is no deadline at the end of this letter. Put it down if you are tired. Come back to it if you want. In the story I am imagining, care is something that makes room rather than something that knocks louder at a closed door.

For now, I will leave the lamp on while I finish my chapter. Somewhere else, perhaps you are turning a page too. I like that small thought: two separate evenings, each complete, with a little affection travelling between them.

A note about this reading

The people and circumstances in this letter are imagined. A real person’s silence cannot be interpreted from a piece of fiction, and this page does not offer private messaging.