Unwritten

They say it helps you if you write about what you feel. I know I’ve wrote you a couple of letters. A number of messages I never really sent. Some unpublished posts I’ll never really share to the world. I’ve sent a hundred or so tweets that may have had a connection with you. I’ve saved a hundred more quotes that pertain to what I feel towards you. But after all those things, I still have a lot in mind. And still a lot of love in my heart. I still can’t understand where exactly they all come from. Cause after all this time, I should have been tired. I should have used up all my energy, I should have gotten the best of me that you so failed to see. I should have been on the wrong end of the line, hating you, cussing over the things that went wrong. (Well at least that is what most people think I might be doing.) But hey! I’m still here. Looking at the unsent messages. Re-reading all those tweets. I’m still smiling over my drafts, and the photo of a letter sent via snail mail. I laugh over the quotes that say exactly what I feel. And yet, there’s still so much unsaid.

It takes ten times longer for a person like me to admit that they’re in love. It takes ten times more than that for us to fall out of it. And I don’t blame anyone for that. That’s just me. But then, you hate it when I say that don’t you? Well, that’s on you. So much is still unwritten.

——-nothing follows——-

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