to all the boys i've loved before dr intro
6 letters kept in a sweet vintage hatbox, all missing one day and up show 6 men at lana's feet, full of questions and mixed feelings.
✞ ˳. ♡𝅦 it's 2O1O and a beautiful, warm day. taylor swift isn't a billionaire, or annoying, and americans kinda like their president.
"If love is like a possession, maybe my letter are like my exorcisms"
iris grove, [redacted], u.s.a
11:23 am ❤︎ ˚̣̣̣ lana sits in her kitchen, mixing the frosting for the homemade pop tarts she made for her younger sister, kitty's soccer match. of course, kitty had been assigned to bring snacks and had forgotten until the day before. that was just kitty.
a knock on the door, and lana swishes through the hall, licking the icing from her finger as she opens the yellow door to wes bennett's concerned face.
"wes? what are you doing here... can i help you with anything?" lana asks, dropping her finger from her mouth in embarrassment.
"is this true?" he asks, eyes searching hers. he holds up a small but thick pink envelope labelled in cursive, "WES BENNETT" and his full address, which was 3 houses down from lana's. the letter had been adorned with swirls and a bit of glitter glue on the corner around the vintage guitar stamp that lana had received from graceland several years ago.
lana's eyes nearly popped out of her head as she pulled the mail from his hand. she tucked it into her baking apron and glared at him. "where did you get that?!"
he shrugged and gestured down the street. "it came in the mail. that's not important! what i need to know is if what you wrote is true or not. did you mean any of that?" he tried to swipe the letter from the floral apron around lana's waist but she maneuvered out of the way and slammed the door instead.
how had wes got a hold of that letter?
he knocked on the door, 4 times, one too many to be polite. his muffled speech through the wood, saying something about giving it back. lana took a breath and looked over the envelope. her signature loopy handwriting all over the floral letter paper. she couldn't remember where she had gotten it, but it was probably old.
ㅤㅤi hate to tell you, but you were never great at guitar. and i love you. maybe i love you because you're not good at guitar... yours until the rivers run dry, lana
she cringed at the contents. cheesy and a pitiful love letter. one of her first. she opened the door again and wes was already trying to grab the letter again. he succeeded and now both of them were upset.
"i don't know what to tell you--"
wes shot back "tell me if it's true! is this how you feel about me? a simple yes or no would do the trick just fine, lana!"
there were more letters upstairs in the pale yellow hatbox in her closet. if wes had received his, that means...
she flew upstairs, the door wide open and wes still standing on the porch. where was it? up there, between the dried flowers and old ballet box, the yellow and white stripes greeted her. she pulled it down and opened it frantically. nothing. nothing except the tissue paper that used to cushion the now non-existent envelopes.
all of the letters she had poured her heart and soul into were gone, nowhere to be found.
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