Disclaimer: I own nothing...

Dear Olive,

I know that you are dead— and have been for over a month—but I still feel compelled to write to you. Your mother came to my house today, and she gave me a page from your journal. She said that you would have wanted me to have it. I never knew that you had wanted to be a writer. That is something that we both had in common. I have always wanted to be a writer. However, I just cannot bring myself to tell my parents. Do you know why? My father will believe that I am copying his profession. He is trying to write a book right now, but I do not think that it is going so well. I want to be the only writer in my family. When I go to Godbee's—my grandmother's—house this summer, I am just going to write.

One the most difficult part about writing is to know what to write about. I doubt that I will write much at Godbee's, but I at least have to try. I hope that many ideas will come to me. Who knows what inspiration events will occur in my life at the ocean?

It has never occurred to me that you have always wanted to see an ocean. I have been to the Atlantic Ocean plenty of times, because that it where Godbee lives. I wish that you could have come with me, so you can fulfill your dreams. Your journal entries bring me so much sorrow. You had so many hopes and dreams. You also had so much potential. The first line of the book you had wanted to write was just lovely. You had such a great sense of style in your writing, but now…you will not be able to write. You can't even see an ocean. I am sorry that we were never friends. You were so quiet, and I—I just was not kind enough to you. I will always regret it. Now we can never be friends. I feel like Anne Shirley when she said: "I must now pay for my folly as a crime."

It is scary, having a person—of your own age—with so many dreams, and having those dreams be nipped at the bud. You died, right after having written your dreams. Your dreams were able to be fulfilled, but that one car crash stopped everything, and you just—it is just too painful to write. What if one day, the same thing will happen to me? One small incident can make such a big difference.

Maybe we can start a friendship right here, in my journal. I have to tell you that I went to the place where you died. My "excuse" for doing so was that my baby sister Lucy wanted to go on a walk. When I arrived at the corner of Knickerbocker and Monroe, I was very upset, because there was no sign that any type of tragedy had taken place. Nothing there told a person that a girl had just died—not even a bouquet of flowers, or even a teddy bear. I had to let others know that you existed. I had to let others know that you were a great person—somebody worth remembering. That is why I wrote your name on the sidewalk with a blue crayon in large block letters. I also gave you one of my most treasured possessions—my bracelet.

I believe that I should tell you something else about me. When I go to Godbee's, I want to take a good look at Tate Manning—a boy who lives near Godbee, and who has five brothers. However, do you know what else I hope? I hope that I will help you fulfill the dreams that you never could.


Martha Boyle

Author's Note: I hope you liked it. I would appreciate getting some reviews...