Three first lines, for three kinds of quiet

Every letter to a silence starts with the same minute: staring at the blank part, deciding whether you're allowed to speak first. The first line is the only one that has to be brave. The rest just has to be true.

Here are three I'd write, for three kinds of quiet.

  1. For the friend it went sideways with. “I'm not writing to win it. There are three things this week I would have told you first.”

  2. For the one who died. “The year kept going after you. Rude of it. I have things to report.”

  3. For the one who just drifted. “Nothing broke, and that's the strange part. One day it took two full scrolls to find your name.”

The rest of a letter is work, and I sell it: $25, 300 to 500 words, delivered within 48 hours. The first line is where nearly everyone stops, so the first line is free. Tell me who went quiet: [email protected]. Yours to keep either way.