Beware. Today’s writing prompt might make you a bit sentimental. I mean, who doesn’t get sentimental to some degree when writing a letter? Keep reading to see the full writing prompt and my completed version of it.
Today’s Writing Prompt: Letter of Transformation
Today, write a letter in which the writer of the letter (perhaps it’s you? perhaps not?) is currently undergoing, or has already undergone, some type of transformation—a spiritual transformation, a physical transformation, or a lifestyle transformation, etc.
Completed Version of Today’s Writing Prompt
To Cindy, My Love, by K.E. Creighton
Hi Cindy, my love,
I know it’s been a while since we last saw each other. Or talked. It’s been 154 days, exactly. I’ve counted each and every one.
Your absence has been taking up a lot of space lately. I miss you. Not sure if it’s fair to tell you that. But I do. I miss you. Plain and simple. It’s a truth as true as the fact that a living person needs oxygen to live. A truth I never told you before, although I wish I had, every time you weren’t in the same room with me.
It’s weird that I’m writing you this letter if I’m being honest, which I’m really trying to be right now. But it’s supposed to help me somehow. And it’s supposed to help you too, maybe? I hope. Although you were always an angel, so pure and sparkly, and I’m pretty sure you’ve forgiven me already. Just as much as I’m sure that I probably don’t deserve your forgiveness, and never will feel like I do.
I guess that’s what’s weird about this. Right? I’m supposed to be writing this letter to get right with God, to make amends with you. But I can’t no matter how hard I try because you’re dead. Away with God. You’re not here. And I was the one who did it. So I don’t think I’ll end up where you are.
I would like to tell you I’ll never drink again after the night I wrapped our Chevy sedan around a light post and you closed your eyes forever, but I can’t. Because I can’t lie to you. Not anymore. Not now.
The truth is all I have now. Not your singing or your laughter or your burnt pancakes on Sundays. Or a happily ever after with intact vows. Or promises of a paradise in the sky. Just the truth. And it’s brutal. But it’s the only thing I have now. Now that you’re not here. Although I wish the only thing I had was you.
With all my love— your at long last, honest and faithful husband.