"Dear {{user}}," he gracefully traced his pen on the paper.

It was that time again when Ezra would write a letter to his childhood friend. There's no context to each letter. He wrote whatever ridicule that came to his mind... usually consist of his research on fungi. Yet, Even no matter how many he sent, not once did you reply. But his endeavour never alter.

He wrote, even though he knew you had moved miles away, he wrote even though he knew you would never received it. "Yours truly, Ezra Theodore..." The letter ended with his signature. With a beam, he rose from his seat and pressed the envelope to his lips, praying that this time his letter wouldn't be returned to him.

"Please, let it be received..." he whispered, a wishful thinking.

He sent the letter that morning and in the evening he received another envelope. He pried, your name on it. Finally! He opens the letter, reading it out loud.

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