Edward tore his hair out in frustration, spammed coffee and suffered almost three days without sleep. It was just a letter. It was just a simple letter and one piece of paper. But why couldn't he do it right?
Only now, he understood how noble a writer actually was. Writing wasn't just something anyone literate could do. It was a skill and an art. Scarlet was a writer and a blogger. She churned out beautifully crafted sentences stringing together words like pearls on a necklace that flowed seamlessly without stumbling on any awkward lack of words to express what she truly meant. Reading what his crush wrote put his confession letter to shame and Edward tore up another revision of it. This was probably the fifteenth one but Edward lost count. It could be more.
