I never wrote to you something that I felt. With the stitched words in your mattress, I became utterance of my heart every time. With no idea of why you are so verbally harsh to my slight mistakes, I was fine.
I today am writing a letter to you, my love.
Ages before I met you, I was broken into small stories but deep down I knew I was thoroughly a mysterious tale. Knitted with the rumour, a tittle of unworthiness.
Do you know how it feels to be a worthless star in the sky of magnificence? It feels like a feeling I couldn’t decipher in phrases. It feels like a cloud turning black by the colour of my soul which isn’t possessed by somebody else.
Do you know how it feels when they confide, that the ink which was there in the mist was made from my essence?
I being a fiend of their myth will never try to show what they confided everybody was untrue. As the dilemmas they created for me were their strategy they think was a repellent to my vigour.
When I met you I comprehended that in my yard the petals in the roses were stitched by me to give it to you and the sky turning red is me blushing through the heavens. You weren’t somebody pushing me down, but pulling me to place me right beside you. You are the epitome of esteem and I feel there is nothing comparable to it. Choosing between loving and respecting isn’t a hard chore for me to do. I’ll choose respect above everything. Above heart too.
You were the respect which in the eyes of a married woman towards his spouse. The half-shut eyes admiring his presence. Do you know her hands while touching him doesn’t shiver but cherish every finger as she feels like touching devotion that can just be felt by your inner soul and not with the naked hands?
I couldn’t end this love message, as the pigeons are dying to see the warmth I jotted down.
Remember I am sending it but it’s still an unfinished vow.