Dearly Beloved,
I will never know the reason why I wrote this letter to you.
Perhaps, an obsession? infatuation? out of spite? out of loneliness? or Love?
Some questions are best left to be unanswered.
With a humbling regret, once more, i have to knocked upon your door and disturb your solitude with these words and Truly, i am sorry. Yet, i have to tell you about everything.
You have become a reign deep within my heart and conquers it. From my inner works of reality to my fantasy. From my waking hours into deep within slumber, only you whom remains.
The thought of you is a forever in my present. Some days, it is faint and small, yet, it illuminates this mind of mine and fills with an ecstasy could never comprehends. Some nights, it is unbearable, echoes of your fleeting words howls through the void in which you have left me in- haunting me towards the endless nights.
From the moment that we met, Dearly Beloved, in a -glance, you put my mind into a trance and within that moment i am reduced to a thing that only wants you in my life.
In those days, i had grow sick and weary and know nothing upon being touched by Love. I’ve put it all inside my lips, and how long have this tongue tried to let you know. I failed and upon being a coward, i fade and recluse myself into the midst of isolation. And so it goes. In despair, this heart still beats to you and forever it aches towards the longing of you.
Dearly Beloved, as days turns in to weeks and as weeks turns into months and as months turns into years, deep i was in denial of loving you. And so it goes.
Revelation came of what have i become, A Fool.
Yet, i was too late, you are there and i’m still right here. And so it goes, the distance grew. Here, in my silence, i was drenched in my own tears,
Yet, from this suffering stems an understanding which Reason and Love keeps little company in this realm. And if the cold, cruel reality offered me to choose between the two, Dearly Beloved, i will always choose the path which leads to you, every time.
Now, feast your eyes upon the fool who can writes.
Every ink writes the words, the sentences and the stories in which in every language - solemnly belong to you and this fool will write until the day come in which you consider me worthy to be envelop in Such Beauty. For i have been struck with the cure known as Love and if you ask the reason why. There is no why and The Fool have no answer to tell.
It is simply is
It simply Love,
It is simply human.