My dearest,
Oh, to my heart, who I loved just as I know you loved me. To my secret heart, for who I apologize, for I was a coward who couldn't act accordingly to my thoughts that my ever so dreamed of. I loved you without knowing how,when or from where. I loved you simply without problems and pride. I loved you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving you but this, in which there is neither I nor you. So intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand. So intimate that your eyes alone can make me write hundreds of poems.
'Timing is irrelevant when two people are meant for each other,' Its what I once believed upon. But if only you could have met me now, how different it would be. I wonder how you and I would be if we could meet after I changed thatbto how I was before.
Nevertheless, here I am today fearing the voice of your that is drifting slowly from my memory, like a fading polaroid. Because losing someone isn't any kind of occasion or event. It doesn't just happen once. It happens everytime over and over again. I lose you everytime i think of you and when I wish I could tell you my day and what I ate. In spite of knowing all those things I write about you because I need you, I need you to exist in my world, somewhere— anywhere, and everytime I write about you, you exist everywhere.
We are losing track of the days and nights, counting fireflies and waiting for the sun to come around. Screeching tires, a near miss, a horn blaring sharply into the night, and now I close my eyes. Here, comes the flashbacks—oh, It doesn't matter if we were together or apart, I love you so much. I'll love you, right until the end of my time.
—love🫶
YOU ARE READING
Secret letters
RandomThose letters that I could never send. 💌 Those words that I could never write.✍️ Those sounds that I could never voice.🔇 And, for all those who I loved but could tell🫶♥️
