Unsent letters.

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I've always been the kind of person who would write random letters to my loved ones on sinfully long nights and would never send it to them.
Instead, I would hide all the messages inside the very corner of my cupboard where no one could be able to find it. They hold alot of intricacy to get revealed as a whole.
However, I remember trying once. Unfortunately, offering a precise letter to the one I admired. Of course, I still reckon the content as the back of my hand, but the emotions have faded into the thin air like the uneven lines of my palm. I kept reading the words again and again, observing the way my pen was pressed into the paper too hard, that at places, it even dug a hole through it. Little did I know, it was digging a hole through my heart as well.
From that day onwards, it was confirmed that the idea of confinding my feelings inside the corner of the cupboard was the best of all.
For once anyone would read my letters, either they would fall in love with me, or they would not fall at all. There's no inbetweens.

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