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type and bleedAh, Reddit.

The website that launched Grumpy Cat’s career.

Reddit. News. Entertainment. Sports. Sprinkled with memes, GIFs and YouTube videos. It’s an addictive site. With loads of different sections.

By sections, of course, I mean subreddits. My favourite is UnsentLetters.

One might think it’s full of hateful “Dear Ex” letters such as:

Dear T,

Roses are red, violets are blue. You dumped me, so I’ll stalk you.

Love X.

P.S. I’m outside your window.

Um, no.

UnsentLetters is a place to write what you can’t say. Express your deepest thoughts about an ex or breakup. Or to overbearing parents. A loud roommate [ahem]. Argumentative sibling. A loud chewer.

Some letters deviate from the norm, and they’re heartbreaking. To dead relatives. Unmet fathers. Aborted babies. People in love with their best friends. And, yes, long gone exes.

There was an issue with the sub, and it prompted a new rule.

People flocked to UnsentLetters with the faint hope Eric, who they dated in 1989, wrote them a letter. Or Richard, circa 1999.

They’d comment: “Oh, Eric, is this you? It must be! You mentioned Budweiser. I remember how you like Budweiser.”

Who likes Budweiser?

Or “Richard. I finally found you. I come here everyday hoping to find you.”

Congratulations on the stalker, Richard.
hard and clearSo Reddit instated the “Stop replying to letters as if they are meant for you” rule. Finally.

People just want to vent and not be bombarded with questions. Release stress. Comments are appreciated, but not “Wow, my ex-girlfriend would write that. Sam? Please say it’s you.”

No. Unless you’re going to upvote them or offer sage advice, leave them alone. Let them complain about the loud chewer and their parents in peace. To b***h about the roommate’s noisy box-springs. Or pine for that lost love from years ago.

UnsentLetters is like an open-air diary.

And that’s why it’s my favourite subreddit.

UnsentLetters are pure honest emotion with awful grammar and poor spelling. Raw, hurt and unedited words pounded into a keyboard. Imagine. People typing letters and knowing they’ll be read – but never sent. It’s technological irony.

Because there’s beauty in words you can’t say. And your only recourse is to write.

Trust me.

I’m a writer.