Psychic Love Letters

 

She sat down at her desk, a wave of unhappiness and boredom washing over her. Determined to do something—anything—to help her cope, she reached for a writing pad and a pen with erasable ink. With a sigh, she began to write.


Dear Husband,

I know that you do not exist, but I thought I would introduce myself and write to you anyway.

My name is Cassie Blake and I am your wife.

What can I tell you about myself?

I am thirty-nine years old, I live alone, unless you count the few collectible dolls and stuffed toy cat. I work in a small office, doing standard clerical work. It’s not exciting and doesn’t pay much, but at least it is something. I live in a decent extended stay hotel that isn’t too far away from where I work.

Sometimes I read, sometimes I write and listen to music. I do pray, although I don’t pray for much as there is not much that I ask for and not much that I would receive. I attend church every Sunday and I make it a habit to at least try and be grateful for what I have. Yet, it is not easy. Life is so hard and I am complex.

I hope that you are doing well. May God bless you.

Sincerely your wife,

Cassie Blake.

She read the letter, made a few corrections, then carefully tore it from the pad and placed it in a folder. Sliding the folder into her desk, she stood and walked over to the sofa. As she gazed out the window, tears fell—silent, inevitable, familiar.


II

A few days later, Cassie returned to her desk. She pulled out her writing pad and pen and began another letter.

Dear Husband,

The days are simple….I go to work, come home, maybe read and/or listen to music. I am still praying, but I just pray. As I said, I don’t ask for much as there is not much that I would receive. I am slowly accepting that I am too complex for anyone.

When I say that I am complex. There are things about me emotionally that not everyone is able to understand. Not only that, I don’t think like everyone else, be they Christian or not. I also have other shortcomings that make it hard for anyone to understand. I get tired of explaining myself to people, so I just retreat into myself. Honestly, I trust no one and probably won’t ever trust anyone.

I’ll write again soon.

Sincerely Your Wife,

Cassie Blake

She reviewed the letter, made her edits, and added it to the folder. After closing the desk drawer, she walked to the window. The sun was setting, painting the city in hues of gold and crimson. Tears slipped down her cheeks, but she did nothing to stop them.

III

A week later, Cassie sat at her desk again. The writing pad and pen felt heavier in her hands.

Dear Husband,

Not much has changed. Life goes on….I continue to pray just mere prayers for others. I’ve stopped praying for myself. I’m getting to the point where I don’t have any faith in anything for myself. I am too broken, too much of a mess. What trust I do have, it is not much. I don’t tell this to my family. They have issues of their own. And the last thing I want is for them to focus on me.

I still try make it a habit to read something spiritual be it the bible or some form of devotional. Do I think that I am out of God’s reach? No, I don’t...but I feel that there’s nothing he can do with me. At least, that what I feel and what I see.

I will not ever be whatever it is that I meant to become.

I will continue to pray for others. I am getting used to being just what I am….a mess.

I will write again.

Sincerely Your Wife,

Cassie Blake.

She reread the letter, corrected it, and added it to the growing pile in the folder. Turning on the classical music station, she let the haunting strains of Erik Satie’s Gymnopédie No. 1 fill the room. Sitting on the sofa, she watched the sun dip below the horizon, her tears falling in rhythm with the melody.


IV

Two weeks later, Cassie found herself at her desk again, pen in hand.

Dear Husband,

As you can guess, nothing much has changed. But as I said before, probably nothing ever will for me. I don’t have much to look forward to. Just a lot of the same. I am still having a conversation with God, but I don’t have anything good to say about myself. I come across a lot of books, devotional books that tell of giving trust to God. To stop trying to control things.

Honestly, there is nothing that I can control. Maybe the way I react, but whether I react correctly or not, it’s always the same. It’s just life….I go through it. I am aware that bitterness is creeping up on me. Maybe I don’t want to be happy, maybe I don’t want what God wants to give me. Maybe I just want to just exist.

To just go through life….Just praying, just keeping to myself….just being me. Whatever is supposed to be wonderful about me. I think I lost that a long time ago. Do I want to reclaim it? Not really and as to the why….it’s because I cannot ever be whatever it is that I am meant to be.

Just so, you know….I know that you are just some figment of my imagination. You’ve taken on many faces. Faces that I modeled after other faces that are known to the world. Your personality is one that I imagined in my head. Mostly perfect, maybe with some flaws….but mostly perfect. Nothing about you is real. It’s why I am writing these letters and will continue to write these letters.

There is no such thing as the perfect person, no perfect match, no perfect anything. At least not in this life. I am just taking things as they come. I know that God is watching me as I write this and no doubt that he is sad.

But it is how I feel, deep down. It will be what it will be.

I accept that I am broken, that I don’t have a lot of trust and that I will not ever be whatever it is to be. Life will go on as it always does.

Sincerely Your wife,

Cassie Blake


This time, after placing the letter in the folder, Cassie remained at her desk. The tears came again, but they no longer startled her. They were her constant companion, as reliable as the setting sun. Her only reprieve came from brief moments with family, but even they couldn’t save her from herself. She’d write another letter soon. It would be the same as always, because this was her life—unchanging, unrelenting, and inescapable.

It was nighttime, and Cassie Blake was asleep, drifting deep into a dream.

She stood in a room she didn’t recognize. It wasn’t hers. The space was bare—quiet and still—except for a lone chaise lounger and an old radio that stood in the corner. Sunlight streamed in through the window, soft and golden, but something was off. The light was moving—not like a flicker, but like it had purpose.

Curious, Cassie followed it with her eyes until it came to rest on a single sheet of paper lying on the floor.

She walked over, bent down, and picked it up. Turning it over, she found writing—delicate, refined, yet easy to read.

Dear Cassie,

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Mikael Gustreve, and I am your husband.

I know you believed your letters were just thoughts spilled onto paper—words meant for no one. But I want you to know… I exist.

I can't explain how I know about your letters or why they reached me. All I can say is that God has a strange way of weaving paths together. Some things are simply beyond explanation.

But I am real. And I think you’re beautiful. I know we haven’t met, not truly, but still—I’m in love with you.

Please don’t despair. I will write again.

Sincerely Your Husband,

Mikael Gustreve

P.S. Please don’t rage or cry anymore. It pains me to see you that way.

◾◾◾◾◾◾◾

Cassie's eyes flew open.

She stared at the ceiling. She felt... off. Not frightened, not sad—just unsettled in a way she couldn’t explain. With a sigh, she got out of bed and went about her morning routine, doing her best to push the dream from her mind.

But it stayed with her.

All day, it crept into her thoughts, no matter how hard she tried to focus. There was something different about this dream—something that felt less like imagination and more real.

Still, dreams were just dreams. And she’d long given up the idea dreams had any significant meaning.

That night, back home and curled up with a new book, Cassie tried to read. But her eyes drifted. The words blurred. The pages turned, but she hadn’t absorbed a thing.

The dream wouldn’t leave her.

It had been years since a dream had clung to her like this—soft, haunting, and impossibly vivid.

And in the quiet of her apartment, one question echoed louder than the rest:

Why?

II

Three nights later, Cassie is asleep again.

This time, she dreams she’s aboard a cruise ship. The air is warm, the sky stretched in hues of pink and gold. Laughter drifts in the background, voices buzz and blend together—but despite being surrounded by people, she feels completely alone.

She sits at a small table on the outer deck, sea breeze brushing against her skin. On the table, as if waiting for her, lies an envelope with her name written in a familiar hand.

She reaches for it, heart fluttering, and opens it.

Inside is another letter.

Dear Cassie,

I know you still feel alone. Like no one really sees you. Like no one truly understands.

But I want to ask one thing of you…

Please smile more.

I know it feels like you have no reason to. But I love your smile. I love when you laugh. I love when you feel good about yourself—because you deserve to.

It hurts me to see you so often sad, carrying pain like it’s stitched into your soul.

I know life hasn’t been easy. You’ve been through more than most people realize. People have let you down, passed over the chance to know the real you. And yes, I know you carry regrets—things you wish you could go back and change.

But ask yourself this… even if you could go back, even if you could rewrite those moments—would your life be any better?

Please, just think about what I said.

I love you, Cassie Baby.

I’ll write to you again.

Always,

Your Husband,

Mikael Gustreve

◾◾◾◾◾◾◾

Cassie woke gently, blinking at the ceiling in the stillness of early morning.

Like before, she felt strange. But not heavy—this time there was a flicker of lightness in her chest. A quiet warmth that curled up inside her.

She smiled, just a little.

But the smile faded almost as quickly as it came.

That soft light? It never lasted. It never stayed.

She climbed out of bed and walked to the window, looking out into the dim, sleepy world.

Her eyes welled with tears.

“Dear God,” she whispered, “I don’t know what’s going on. But it won’t last. These sweet dreams You’ve let me have—they’re comforting, yes. But that’s all they are.”

A pause. Her voice trembled.

“Thank You for trying to cheer me up. But… we both know there’s nothing special about me. Nothing special is ever going to happen.”

She wiped her tears with the back of her hand, then turned away from the window.

III

Seven nights later, Cassie had fallen asleep on the couch, the book she’d been reading resting loosely in her hand.

In her dream, she stood outside an enormous castle.

The sight puzzled her.

The structure rose like something out of a fairytale—grand, ancient, and breathtaking. It stretched across acres of green, rolling land. Above, the sky was a perfect blue canvas dotted with soft white clouds. Sunlight bathed everything in a golden glow.

Where was she?

She turned in slow circles, trying to place the surroundings. It didn’t feel like America. Europe, maybe—but where?

She took a steadying breath, exhaled, and walked toward the castle gates. As she approached, the massive doors creaked open before she could even lift a hand to knock.

It gave her pause.

“What in the world…?” she muttered.

Something pulled at her—gently, wordlessly beckoning her forward.

So, she stepped inside.

The doors shut behind her with a heavy, final sound.

Cassie stood in a grand entryway, quiet and dimly lit. In the center sat a round table. On it rested an envelope—unlike the others.

It shimmered faintly. White gold in color, sealed with a golden wax crest.

Her name was written on the front in that same elegant handwriting.

She picked it up with both hands, turned it over, and opened it carefully.

Inside was a letter.

Dear Cassie,

Please—don’t let your thoughts dwell on the worst. Not everything is lost. Not everything is bleak.

God is with you. He always has been.

I want you to have faith—not just in God, but in the life still waiting for you. I know it’s hard. I know you feel like nothing good lies ahead… that the things you’ve lost, the dreams you carry, are fading.

You think you have no purpose. But you do.

There’s something you long to do—something you dream of making real. But fear holds you back. You don’t know where to begin. You’re scared no one will understand.

My darling Cassie… don’t lose faith.

I love you.

Please hold on—to your hope, your vision, your belief that your story isn't over.

You are the love of my life.

My soulmate.

Even my queen—as I’ve often written you to be.

Yes, Cassie. I write, too. And I have written countless pages filled with thoughts of you. You’ve been a queen in every story, the one who shines brightest beside me.

I love you.

God loves you.

Have faith.

Sincerely, Your Husband,

Mikael Gustreve

◾◾◾◾◾◾◾

Cassie jolted awake, breath caught in her chest.

For a long moment, she sat on the couch, unmoving.

The dream... it lingered like fog. It hadn’t just felt real—it had been real, in some unexplainable way.

She glanced at the clock. 11:48 PM.

Still groggy, she set her book aside, then rose and headed to her bedroom.

After brushing her teeth and settling into bed, she turned off the lamp. Moonlight streamed through a slit in the blinds, casting faint silver shapes across the floor.

She stared toward the window and whispered into the quiet room:

“Mikael Gustreve… are you real? Or just a figment of my imagination?”