The Letters to the Solicitor

All the letters were handwritten, torn from note books. The scroll rushed across the page as if the words were burning out of them. I would never reach these boys, never touch them. But they shone bright in the northern sky. It was enough to know they were there. At 17 i was wan and skinny. My hair hung to my chin. I parted it in oily curtains and wore it tucked behind my ears because it irritated the rody acne of my cheek bones. He asked me, no questions. He didn't hurry me to respond like all the others did. And he said almost immediately that i should eat what i wanted and that to night or date would be on him