All I want to do sometimes is type down everything and sending it to you.
The way I saw you looking at me, the way you silently started walking by my side while coming back home, the way we almost forgot to tell our names to each other the first time we spoke, the way you asked me for my number, the way you grabbed Bourbons at the cafe and didn’t offer me one, the way you said no for a packet of chips but eventually finished eating all of them when I told you to eat, the way we teamed up to do something spontaneous, the way sunsets looked and sunrises too on certain days which might not have been special if I weren’t with you.
But, instead of telling you all this, I wrote poems and blogs; some poems which I didn’t even share with anyone, some blogs only meant to be read by me or you as long as I told you the list of the little things written above.
Only if I didn’t fear losing you; but, clearly I don’t have you now.
Another unsent love letter.