A lot of my stroys are about you. In this way, I can speak to you. I write down all my feelings the feelings I can’t explain to you.
We joked about it. In a text you asked me one day. “have you ever wrote a love story about me?” I tried to change the subject. But why? This was the time to tell you about the things I wrote.
So I did. I send you a love story. A love story about you.
I was terrified when you read it. I patiently waited for your reaction. And once you did my heart skipped a beat.
“It is beautiful,” you said. Do you have more? I want to read more. Is this all the truth? Is this how you really feel? Yes, I said. All that I write is about you.
You don’t love me. And that’s okay. But now I know you understand my feelings. You know why I can react unusual or angry or sad. You understand because you have read it.
And I’m so happy I opened up about it to you.
Because it makes things so much easier to talk about.
Because all I write is about you. And I will still write about you