Dear Michael,
My dearest Michael. It has been a week since you have said the words I crave to hear. A week since you have told me that you love me. I say it to you, so very often. You never answer. You just stare into the distance. I'm losing you, my love. Just tell me that you love me more than the moon loved the sun. What's become of us?
You no longer write me daily letters filled with a description of your amazing day. You no longer send me your poems about how the sunset reminds you of me. You no longer smile or laugh. You have changed completely since last week. You've gone from carefree and happy, to a boy with bags under his eyes and sorrow on his tongue.
Last night I did not ask what your riddle means. I just laid in bed with you, and I listened to you quietly sob. I asked you what was wrong, but you just shook your head. I kissed you to ease the pain, but there was no passion. Have I done this to you? Is it because I didn't understand your riddle? Michael, please. Please just show me there is still some of the old you left. Please don't slip away from me.
Love,
Elora
