So, I am writing this again. I still don't know about the fate of this letter. I don't know if these words I write for you will ever reach you or not but as they say if it is meant to be, it will happen, so with hope, I am writing this letter again. Maybe someone will share this with you after reading this, but it can't be me, it won't be me, it shouldn't be me.
Love stays, love remains fresh, love remains hidden in the heart, and whatnot. It all sounds cliche, right? But it is true, maybe that's why it sounds so familiar for at some point in our life, we all feel so, don't we? My love is the same, pure and honest. I don't know what others feel about it, but my love is selfless, it knows no boundary, it knows nothing about distance, but it knows about you, or I should say it only knows about you. The face, soft cheeks, eyes that like to remain half-opened, magical lips, and a smile that feels like home. Perfect! How gorgeous you are! How can I not fall in love with you with every breath, how?
But I never help my words to reach you. I have lost count of how many times I have typed the letters, how many times I have almost hit the send button. Almost. But almost can never be enough. How I have believed that you almost love me, How many times you have almost told me that you too love me. Almost. I don't even dare to write another letter. Maybe, this would be the last. Maybe, this will reach you. Maybe. Somehow. Miracles happen, right? My love doesn't even deserve a miracle? Can this luck be so cruel?
Whatever. I love you. I find solace in your smile, my heart finds you beautiful, and my eyes feel so comfortable doing nothing but looking at you continuously, have you ever noticed that they stop blinking, I have. Be mine. This heart has built a home, stay in it.
Yours,
Idiot