Heartbroken, or My Earliest Memory of Writing

I perfectly remember the first time I’d tried to write “something big” (as I thought at that time). I was 9 years old. I spent the entire summer in my grandparents’ summer house.  I was just a careless child who was spending all the time outside with his “summer” friends (all of them were from different places, and usually we didn’t see each other until the next summer). I was “madly” (again, as I thought at that time) in love with a girl 5 years older than me; it was not a surprise that at the beginning of fall I’d decided to write her a love letter and to send it by regular mail. I spent almost two hours writing huge senseless sentences, crossing them out, writing them again, crumpling the letter, throwing it into the garbage bin, taking it out, and rewriting the letter. It was awful, illiterate piece of work, but I was proud of myself when I had finally finished it.

The girl never answered me back…