A Letter To (You)

Dear (You),

By the time you read this, it will be too late. Even then, I feel compelled to write this.

I have a confession to make: I have been in love with you for the longest time, but I’ve never known how to tell you so.

I don’t know how or why it happened, it just did, and till this very moment I simply cannot explain it away.

There are many things that I have never told you. I’ve never told you that you’re beautiful. How there are moments in time in which you have make life seem perfect, like there was nothing else I could ask for, or how I have longed for those moments to be frozen in time, so it would be that way forever. I have never told you these, and so much more.

I started writing because of you. You were my inspiration, the face of my muse. And in saying that, some things don’t happen by coincidence. I had always felt that it was only right that you knew, even though you may never find out the extent of it all. I wish I could relate how futile this feels, for right now words have become inadequate, and remain just that – mere words.

Forgive me. A part of me knows that it is out of a terribly selfishness that I write this. But I do not write this so much as to hope that it will change anything – I already know not to expect a reply. I fear that my silence may be a sacrifice the price of which I’m not sure I can pay, but I realise that it is the only way.

In the end things weren’t meant to be, and I have resigned to the fact that we all choose our own paths, just as you have chosen yours. I will not mourn over what might have been or what could have been – at this moment there isn’t much of a point left is there?

Here’s to you, and to new beginnings. May you be happy, always.

Love,
(Me)

P.S. I hope that you will never know, just as much as I will never know.