You and your eloquent words…
You write like Shakespeare and Thoreau and every other famous poet in history. You write the way all girls want to be written to, because it seems like you write love letters even when you speak of tragedy. I have been told many times that I don’t need a man, but I cannot help but be enticed by all you say, probably because you aren’t afraid to show your emotions. Boys nowadays tend to run away from their feelings, turning around when you expect them to catch you yell out, “Trust fall!” Then again, I see you are not a boy, but a man; you are a man that writes novels of the soul.
But they say that writers are the most scarred. They say writers take their brokenness and twist the sad memories into something beautiful. They say writers are anything but perfect. But how can you be anything other than that? Your pen is like an oboe and the words on the paper are like notes on a score to my favorite lullaby. You are the sheer music that gives me peace and although my heart is cold, with you I am vulnerable because you make it so easy to open up to you. It’s so hard to find that kind of charisma in the world so, to me, you are perfection.
But I can’t have your perfection because there’s someone else. I hope that whoever has your heart will treat you well because you deserve nothing less. I hope that she loves you and that whoever else may come along will make you happy because I’m not sure I’m in the state to do that. But you seem fine with your life, so I only pray that you’ll continue to be content and hope that one day I’ll find someone more like you.