Dear You,
My hands tremble as I write this to you because I feel too shy to talk to you directly. Even though I have written so much about you, talking to you directly still gets butterflies in my stomach. You have always had this magical impact on me. It's unreal.
But there are still a few things I'd like to talk to you about on this drunken night.
Turning you into poetry is probably the stupidest thing I have done. Please don't get me wrong, this is not about whether you deserved it or not. It's just that I have romanticized you as a muse for so long that every other person I meet now seems so ordinary and worthless. I keep finding pieces of you in others. Someone smiles a bit like you; someone is finicky about timing as you were and so on. But no one is even close to what you have been…and that's so wrong, isn't it?
I don't even know if this is real or not. The lines between reality and fiction have blurred in my head to the extent that I keep questioning myself that my words make you look good, or is it the other way around? Are your eyes really that poetic? Does your voice really put the birds to shame? Is your smile really magical enough to confine the entire positivity of the universe? Maybe words don't do justice to you, I feel.
In a world where the old school definition of love has lost its meaning, I have made people fall for #ThatGirl and have given you, your personal definition of it. And I cannot stop, no matter how hard I try. *Sighs*
But tell me something, do you even read what I write for you? Do you, on lonely nights, affix yourself to my page and read what all I have noticed about you and more? Will you tell your daughter to look for a guy like me when she decides to fall in love? Do you still talk about me to the moon or the universe? Do you even think about me?
I hope I could get these answers someday. But till then, I just wanted to tell you that I will still stupidly fall for you every day and make sure you fall for yourself every day too because there's no end to words, feelings or love when it comes to you.
Love,
Yours,
The Writer
My hands tremble as I write this to you because I feel too shy to talk to you directly. Even though I have written so much about you, talking to you directly still gets butterflies in my stomach. You have always had this magical impact on me. It's unreal.
But there are still a few things I'd like to talk to you about on this drunken night.
Turning you into poetry is probably the stupidest thing I have done. Please don't get me wrong, this is not about whether you deserved it or not. It's just that I have romanticized you as a muse for so long that every other person I meet now seems so ordinary and worthless. I keep finding pieces of you in others. Someone smiles a bit like you; someone is finicky about timing as you were and so on. But no one is even close to what you have been…and that's so wrong, isn't it?
I don't even know if this is real or not. The lines between reality and fiction have blurred in my head to the extent that I keep questioning myself that my words make you look good, or is it the other way around? Are your eyes really that poetic? Does your voice really put the birds to shame? Is your smile really magical enough to confine the entire positivity of the universe? Maybe words don't do justice to you, I feel.
In a world where the old school definition of love has lost its meaning, I have made people fall for #ThatGirl and have given you, your personal definition of it. And I cannot stop, no matter how hard I try. *Sighs*
But tell me something, do you even read what I write for you? Do you, on lonely nights, affix yourself to my page and read what all I have noticed about you and more? Will you tell your daughter to look for a guy like me when she decides to fall in love? Do you still talk about me to the moon or the universe? Do you even think about me?
I hope I could get these answers someday. But till then, I just wanted to tell you that I will still stupidly fall for you every day and make sure you fall for yourself every day too because there's no end to words, feelings or love when it comes to you.
Love,
Yours,
The Writer
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