This is mine, all characters are mine. Except for the occasional song this is all mine. Please do not copy it or anything like that. Also this is a complete work of fiction. Thanks! :)

Summary-

She left letters in the library for someone to find, anyone who wanted to take the time to listen to her words that she wrote. He was that someone. She became his Light without ever meeting her. The Letters were more than just words, they were magic. And then one day the letters stopped. The last one told him to live for her. And that's what he did.

Ariel Prescott is now a want to be writer moving back to the bustling streets of New York to pursue her dreams. Ty Daniels is a famous musician whose lyrics and voice melt girls' hearts. They have nothing in common and yet everything in common. What happens when the two of them meet by chance. Is it fate or something more?

Set in the glistening backdrop of New York City, The Letter Writer brings a whole new meaning to words. Filled with depressions, darkness, pain, suffering, cuts, bruises, and abuse, two people will discover that the world is not only darkness. There is also friends, family, music, words, coffee, Riki's Café, the internet, romance, kisses, and of course letters.

To Change the World, You Have To First Change Yourself.

Prologue

I don't know why I'm doing this.

I honestly don't.

I saw it in a movie (it was a sad movie. Never make a movie about a dying old man and a dying child with cancer together. It makes for a terrible ending) and so I thought. Why not? Why not do something I normally wouldn't do? What's the point in living if you don't do something unexpected? After all, you never know when it will be your last day. After all you never know when you'll be missing the opportunity of a lifetime.

My step-mother says that I spend too much time in my books. I read a lot and she says it's unhealthy, imagine that a person actually thinking it's unhealthy to read. But she does. She thinks it's unhealthy for me to dream so much. But I'd rather live in a world where I choose who I want to be. Why be someone boring when you could be a hero, or a side kick or, god forbid, the damsel in distress, or even a villain. (Thought I am a firm believer that not all villains are bad. I mean just look at Snape from Harry Potter. Everyone loves him).

I don't know if I'll actually do it. Maybe I'll actually do it. Maybe I'll actually try and create my own fairy tale. Maybe I'll finally see some relief from this storm, I used to be terrified of storms, so much so that I'd hide underneath my sheets and cry until it was over. Now it's so normal in my life that I'm not afraid, just tired. Maybe I won't be tired anymore.

Maybe.

I seem to use that word a lot. Maybe I'll try and go through with my dreams. It is only high school after all. I won't always have to live with these expectations. There's a whole new door after I walk across the stage and accept that diploma. I can't wait to throw my hat in the air and get out of this prison. That's all school is after all. Most of the people who know me would laugh at me saying that. You would probably laugh to. In fact you're probably laughing right now.

So if you find this I guess I was brave enough. And you'll have to bear with me or maybe you'll throw this letter away and not read it. I hope you read it. I hope I'm not wasting all of this pen and ink.

So if you're reading this: persevere. Don't let go. If you don't then I promise I won't.

Word for the Wise: We all will hit the floor one time or another, our skin bit cold by metal. We'll all be bruised and broken, battered and beaten. But it's when we try to rise again, that is when we find our courage. (This is my quote by the way. But I give you permission to use it. Maybe you'll become famous by it. That would be wonderful).

The girl with the long blond curls pulled up in a ponytail stood in front of the large bookshelf, holding the letter so tight in her hand that it was beginning to crumple. She rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet, trying to decide which book.

This was part of the fun. Trying to decide which book was the right one.

In the end she decided on a book about the Revolutionary War. She felt a bit like she was rebelling against something even though she didn't know what quite yet. She pulled the thick book out and shoved the letter in and turned on her heels before she had the opportunity to swipe it out of the pages and throw it away.

No, she would leave the letter in the book and maybe, just maybe someone would find it. But if no one did then there was no harm to it.

The girl returned to her table and swung her backpack onto her back and headed out of the library. "Have a good rest of the day dear," the old librarian said to her favorite student. The girl gave her a weak smile and then headed out of the library, leaving the letter in the book and heading to her Ancient Greek class.

She sat down at her desk, tapping her pen nervously against her desk. What if she got in trouble? What if someone she didn't want to found it? What if someone found out it was her! But she shrugged those feelings away.

There would be no fun in that.

The girl with the blond hair made sure her curls were covering her neck.

To hide the bruises.

So I checked the other day and the letter's gone. I guess that means that you found it. Whoever you are… Funny how this works.

So what did you think? Am I just a silly girl (I am a girl, I hope you could tell from my handwriting) or did you think there was some point to it? Well if you're reading this again then I guess you thought it did. Or maybe you just wanted to laugh at me again. So laugh away.

Today I had another storm. I got home and my step-mother was angry because I was late. I work at the book store every day after school to try and earn some extra money because my father won't give me a cent. Or more my step-mother won't. My dad's always off in California. That's originally where I'm from but we moved when my mother ran off (another Storm). She hit me, she does that a lot. But the sad thing is. I've grown used to it. But soon I'll be gone and I hope that I can fulfill my dream.

I realize that I've talked about this dream that I have a lot but you don't know what that dream is. Well I guess I should tell you. I want to be a writer.

Yes, yes go ahead and laugh. But that's what I dream to be. I know it doesn't pay well but I want to show the word my words, show them what's turning around in my head, what ideas are swirling around (there's a lot of them by the way) Maybe I'll write some of my works to you. I usually write near midnight. I'm a night owl. I work better at night. There's something about the stars and the moon that seem to whisper ideas and words into my ears. It speaks to me. I love words. Maybe that's why I'm writing to you.

Did you think about my promise? You're not giving up are you? Good. Because I'm not either.

Words for the Wise: Night is when the stars come up, when the moon gets its turn to shine and that's when my mind spins, when it dreams. When I gaze at the stars and dream and then I'm taken to another world, a world of dreams and beauty. And I never want to leave. So don't leave. Don't leave your dreams ever.

Post Script (that's what PS stands for by the way, I just learned that) I will be putting the next letter in The Boys in Blue: A Civil War Story. Just in case

The boy pulled out the book, the exact same one as yesterday and opened it. He couldn't help but smile when he saw the letter that lay nestled between the pages. He pulled it out and then put the book back.

The boy with the dark brown hair which curled slightly below his ears touched the red seal and then dug his nail underneath it. He would never have found this if it hadn't been for his failing grades. So for once he was actually happy he was failing all of his classes. He had been here with his tutor and she (she wasn't pretty at all. Not like the girls he usually dated) had sent him to get a book on the Revolutionary War so that they could work on his project for Civics.

That was where he found the letter.

And he was captivated by it. He had loved the way the words floated off the page. They had made him smile, really smile. Most things earned him a cocky smirk not a real smile. And then the challenge that she had given at the end. Persevere. It made him think. Was there someone else out there who was going through something as hard as he was?

The boy with the dark hair shoved the letter into his back pocket, he'd have to read it later, not that many people thought that he could even read. But he would struggle through it and he would read this letter.

The boy swaggered out of the library, gave the librarian one of his arrogant smiles and pushed the doors open and headed out into the busy halls of the school which he ruled.

Before he continued he made sure to pull down his sleeves.

To cover the scars.

So then hi again! I hope that your school day is going well and all that junk. I thought that I should write that just for formality's sake. My day's going fine… I guess. Sometimes people make me so mad though. Do you know how I feel? There are times when I just want throw my hands up in the air and be done with it all. Do you know what I mean?

It seems like the world's too full. Like there are so many people rushing around, hurrying from place to place. Do they even care? They say that they care about me but do they even have time for me? Do they even notice me? Would then even cry if I was to conveniently "disappear". Oh don't freak out, I'm not done with this world…yet. I still have plans, I have to publish my book, I want to see England and Greece.

But do you understand? I mean my step-mother says that she "cares" about me but I sincerely doubt that she would be willing to die for me, I doubt that she loves me. Which brings up a question I've been pondering. What is love? Is it those sappy feelings that are portrayed in those stupid romance movies? (Okay, okay I am guilty of watching them). Is it a passionate make out with your boyfriend… or maybe it's a girlfriend in your case.. Or is it something more. I hope that it's something more. All the other options seem so… artificial. Like how artificial sweetener is not actually sugar. That's a bad analogy I know. But we can't be brilliant all the time can we?

How's my challenge coming along? Are you doing fine? I hope that you are. I hope that you remember that you aren't what everyone else thinks that you are. You're yourself… not that I know who that is being that I'm only writing this on a piece of paper and praying that some librarian isn't throwing it away. That would be gods awful.

Words for the Wise: The love that moves the moon and the stars, the love that holds me tight during the storms, whispering that it's okay, that they'll fight the storm for me. That is the love I want. Someone who will never let me go, who will never abandon me. Who will die for me. But if that's the love I want, then that is the love I must give. And give it I shall.

Post Script: Tanks and Subs: The Inventions that Changed the World

The girl with the blue eyes like storms laughed with her friends, or at least the people that claimed to be her friends. She prayed that they would. "You okay?" Her friend with the electric green eyes asked, shaking her shoulder. She was probably the one the blue eyed girl would truly call her best friend.

"Fine, just fine," she said, giving her best friend a weak smile to try and convince her. But the green eyed girl shook her head but let her continue to daydream.

The girl was thinking about the letter which she had just left in one of the history books. She smiled, thinking that maybe someone was reading it. She looked down at her notebook which was shoved full of stray pages and scrawls of bits of conversation she liked.

"How's the book coming along?" One of the girls at the table asked her.

The blue eyed girl shrugged. "Fine," she said. "Just fine."

"What's it about again?" Another girl asked, leaning forward and trying to snatch at the notebook. The blue eyed girl smacked her hand away.

"Nothing and don't touch," she said, trying to grin but not feeling like it. Her shoulder was sore from last night.

"Hey what's that?" Her best friend asked pointing at the large bruise on her shoulder which was visible from her shirt which was slipping down on the shoulder from her constant tugging at it.

"Nothing, nothing at all," the girl with the blue eyes whispered.

My best friend nearly saw my bruises. Do you know how embarrassing that would have been? Oh gods I can't even believe what she would have done if she found out about my step-mother. My best friend isn't exactly the most calm or patient girl in the world. Not that I am either. Maybe that's why we get along so well. We're always at each other's throats.

Guess what! Today I got a letter from NYU! I'm accepted! I nearly screamed when I got it but that would have woken up my step-brothers and then my step-mother would have been mad (don't you miss being able to sleep in because school started later?). But that means that I'm that much closer to getting my dream. Oh gods I can't wait! It's a dream really. Maybe the Disney catch phrase is true: dreams do come true. Only I didn't wish on a star.

I blew on a dandelion.

Okay so not really. Are you going to college? Or maybe you're one of those people who decide that they're going to go off and backpack across Europe. That would be fun. I actually would rather do that instead of going to college. Can you imagine it? Going through France and Germany, Russia and Austria, living off of your back, your wits and oh I would love to! It would be the perfect experience for my novel but I'll never be able to do it. I wish I could. I wish more than anything that in this world we could choose what to do. I wish we didn't have to worry about money and everything. Why can't we just do it? You know how all those annoying celebrities say "You can do it!" Well duh they can do it, they have so much money. But people like us teenagers well it's not like we have a million dollars in our piggy bank under our bed.

Nope it's in my sock drawer instead.

Actually I'm broke. My dad could probably afford it… he's a history professor and has written many history theses and books and has given so many high and annoying speeches for annoying, pompous people. But I'm not one for charity. That's why I'm hoping that my book will be published. I mean so many of people who are under twenty and publish their books get boat loads of money no matter how terrible they are. I mean look at Eragon.

Well I have to go, ha that sounds like I'm actually talking to you. Wish I could. I hope you're doing your part for your promise. I'm still trying to do it (just letting you know, it doesn't mean that you have to go around grinning like a clown, you can still look like you want to murder someone but just… just don't get too down 'kay?)

Word for the Wise: You can wish all you want on every shooting star, you can toss a penny into every well, you can blow dandelion fuzz everywhere but unless you try, unless you stand up and do something about it, your dreams won't come true. To dream, you must also believe and to believe you must work. Work for your dreams. Work to touch the stars.

Post Script: Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen (We're moving to my favorite books)

The boy with the green eyes lay on his bed holding the letter up with one of his hands while the other one was under his head. His eyes were focused on trying to read the letter in front of him, his brain was working in over time to try and actually understand it. But he loved reading these letters.

Whoever, whatever girl was writing these had a gift. He had spent today looking at different girl walking around the school, trying to deduce which girl was writing them but he couldn't figure it out. He knew that none of the girls that he hung out with wrote these. They were too heartfelt for them. They were shallow bitches really. They couldn't come up with those words for the wise that she wrote at the end of every letter.

"Is that a new one?" The boy with the green eyes sat up quickly on his squeaking bed which groaned under his weight. His best friend, a boy with dark black eyes was sitting in the window, having climbed up from the fire escape. New York slums apartments were terrible in security.

"Yeah," the boy muttered, shoving the letter underneath his mattress.

"You going to let me read them ever?" His friend asked, slipping into his small room which smelled like cigarettes. The boy looked nervously at where he had placed the three other letters on his box which served as a nightstand. They were too special to him. She, whoever she was, was too special to him. He shook his head.

"Ah come on, what's so important about these letters anyway? I mean other than the fact that they actually got you into the library."

"Nothing… I just don't want you to read them," the boy argued.

"Whatever, whatever," his friend said. "Your mom back?" He asked. The boy shook his head and then leaned against the wall.

"What do you think about backpacking across Europe?" He asked.

"Europe? Really, do you even know where Europe is?" His friend asked, shaking his head.

"'Course I know where Europe is, everyone knows where Europe is," the green eyed boy lied. His friend laughed.

"I don't know it sounds cool, why?" He asked.

The boy shrugged and looked up at the ceiling. "It just sounded… exciting. Much better than college."

"That's true," his friend agreed, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. He offered one to the boy who accepted it and lit it with the lighter he kept under his mattress as well. If his mom saw it she'd have a cow. He tossed it to his friend.

The boy leaned back, his sleeves coming down on his arms. "Man, you got to stop that, what happened this time?" His best friend said, pointing at the scars on his arms.

The boy jerked up and pulled his sleeves down. "Nothing, nothing at all," the boy with the green eyes whispered.

Sometimes weekends can be relaxing but honestly most of the times they're really Storms for me. I spend my time trying to watch my two twin step-brothers and trying to study for my college entrance exams (because I sadly won't be going backpacking across Europe). My step-mother spends most of her times with her friends… at bars or clubs or those places. And my step-brothers are terrors. But they're very cute terrors. Thankfully the worst that they've ever done is set the fire alarm off, they wanted to try my wax kit and accidently burned the paper. They're not the brightest tools in the tool box. So I guess it was nice to get back to school this Monday, I can actually hear myself think at least. Well as long no one answers questions too stupidly. (I mean honestly who thinks that Athens is in South Africa).

So the topic for today: pain.

Why do you think we have to suffer? I mean honestly what's the point of having suffering in this world? Why do I have to have an evil (yes I am using that word correctly) step-mother? And why do you…because I bet you're going through trials as well… have to suffer whatever you're suffering through. Why does it have to hurt? I'm not a big one for pain. I don't like being hurt, I don't like hurting people. Why do we have to suffer when terrible people in the world (like celebrities and politicians, they are the worst!) why do they get nice things. But when I thought about it, I realized pain makes a stronger. It's like I said in my first words for the wise. It's when you get back up that you realize just how strong you were. Pain is weakness leaving the body. And I think that pain gives us experiences that we need. Experiences that make us love harder and trust more. I think pain is worth it. We may not like it at first. But in the end, every scar is a battle symbol.

I hope I'm not being too… preachy or something. I hope you're day is going well. I hope that you're staying strong. Thank you for listening to my rambling and everything. Most people think that I just need to shut up. But oh well. They can think that, and if you think it, then you can think it too.

Words for the Wise: Every time I'm cut, every time I'm bruised, I know that I'm only getting stronger, it's only making me better. It's a badge I'll honor. Things can get worse but there's always a worst, there's always a rock bottom, always a hell. And once I've been there, that means I get to work my way up to the best, to the pinnacle, to the Heavens.

Post Script-The Last Battle by C.S. Lewis

The girl with tan skin looked at the letter in front of her. When she was satisfied with it she folded it up and slipped it into the envelope. She pulled out her wax and melted it right on the overlap and then stirred the crimson wax that she thought could quite possibly look like blood. When it began to harden, she pressed her seal over it and then smiled. Done.

"Bus is here!" her step-mother said, banging on her door. The girl made a face and then jumped up and grabbed her backpack and hurried out of the door, making sure that her letter was safely tucked into her pocket.

As she rode in the bus to school she clutched her backpack to her chest as she stared out at the moving cars. She wasn't an insecure girl, she just didn't want to open up to all these stupid people. She couldn't help it.

She moved her arm so that her bruises weren't visible.

Seventeen Weeks Later

The boy with the pale skin had never actually fallen in love with a girl. Most girls annoyed the living daylight out of him. But this girl that had written thirty letters, all of which he had kept, was slowly itching a way into his heart. And he had never met her before.

Was this normal? He wondered as he headed back to the library and searched for the book: Till We Have Faces by C.S. Lewis, his mystery girl had a thing for C.S. Lewis and mangos and pomegranates and architecture and owls and peppermint icecream.

He pulled out the letter and opened it up, peeling off the wax:

Do it for me.

Please whoever you are, whoever has been reading my letters. Please, please do it for me. Live for me. I'm moving. I'm moving back to California so I can't finish these letters anymore. I can't attend NYU or travel through Europe or do anything. My book is total trash. Or at least that's what the editor told me that I sent it to. I guess I should have suspected as much. It didn't have any intense sex scene or bad language every three words. So I guess it's not good enough. I mean I wasn't meaning to write the next Fifty Shades of Grey! It was supposed to be a young adult novel. But apparently it was terrible.

So I'm breaking our promise. I can't do it anymore. But you can. Will you do it? Will you travel through Europe for me? Will you live your dream? Please. This is short and may sound sappy but gods, live for me. Please.

Please.

Words for the Wise: When your dreams are crushed it's like the world's falling down around. Like everything's shattering and you're left wondering will it ever be okay? Will you ever be strong again?

Post Script- None.

The boy stared at the letter in disbelief. So this was the end? Was this what it felt like to be dumped in a letter? Because he certainly felt dumped. But something in him was aflame. He would live, damn it he would live for her.

Tyson Daniels tucked the envelope into his pocket and strode purposely out of the library.

He would live.