I have decided to unwrite my letter. I am unwriting the second sentence. And the third. I am unwriting the pigeon at my window, flying away as I open the window that I have unwritten. I am unwriting you opening an envelope, unfolding the letter that has yet to be written, or is being unwritten. I am unwriting I have decided to unwrite my letter. I am unsending it.
Jeannie Vanasco lives in Brooklyn. Her other writing can be found at The Believer, The Times Literary Supplement, Tin House, and elsewhere. She is currently writing a book of nonfiction involving necronyms, mental illness, and an artificial eye. You can find her at www.jeannievanasco.com.