3:02AM, 14 June 2009—I found pieces of crumpled paper somewhere near where I’m sitting now. Instinct told me to pick them up. So I did. Now as it rest in my hands, one by one I peeked through its icky pages where water and ink seemed to have met for a reason.
“Should I skim or read thoroughly?”, I asked myself. Instinct this time told me to read them—all.
Dear YOU,
Tonight’s drama has been the worst since I’ve known how to care for someone. Still, I don’t despise you. Instead, I AM LOVING YOU MORE.
You said you don’t want me to pursue this nonsense feeling anymore because it’s unfair for my part, that you’re not worthy of the love I’m giving, and I don’t deserve you; that you don’t want me to end up like your ex-lovers who only suffered from the haphazard commitment you gave; that you’re concerned of my future where you said you already foresaw and concluded that I will be hurt—I fully understand all of them. But the fact that you wholeheartedly told me every single thing you did has already changed my view: you already saved me from being hurt badly—that only means you’re no longer unfair, you’re really worthy of loving, and I deserve someone like you; that also means there’s a mere chance of preventing history from repeating itself; and the fact that you’re concerned already concludes that you’ll be worth the pain.
I am very willing to fight for what I believe, because at the end of the day, it’s still you whom I’m fighting for. I have my full trust in you, and I’m not gonna let this hinder our chances of being happy together soon.
Please, you know what I ask for.
Loving you more and still waiting,
V
P.S.
Always smile, you look good when you do.
“And that’s it.”, I said to myself. Come to think of it, this is a love letter meant for someone. I wonder who wrote it and to whom.
Now as I take off my shirt to prepare myself to sleep(?), I found something on the left side of my chest—it’s icky, it’s liquid and ink. 3:38AM, 14 June 2009.
“Should I skim or read thoroughly?”, I asked myself. Instinct this time told me to read them—all.
Dear YOU,
Tonight’s drama has been the worst since I’ve known how to care for someone. Still, I don’t despise you. Instead, I AM LOVING YOU MORE.
You said you don’t want me to pursue this nonsense feeling anymore because it’s unfair for my part, that you’re not worthy of the love I’m giving, and I don’t deserve you; that you don’t want me to end up like your ex-lovers who only suffered from the haphazard commitment you gave; that you’re concerned of my future where you said you already foresaw and concluded that I will be hurt—I fully understand all of them. But the fact that you wholeheartedly told me every single thing you did has already changed my view: you already saved me from being hurt badly—that only means you’re no longer unfair, you’re really worthy of loving, and I deserve someone like you; that also means there’s a mere chance of preventing history from repeating itself; and the fact that you’re concerned already concludes that you’ll be worth the pain.
I am very willing to fight for what I believe, because at the end of the day, it’s still you whom I’m fighting for. I have my full trust in you, and I’m not gonna let this hinder our chances of being happy together soon.
Please, you know what I ask for.
Loving you more and still waiting,
V
P.S.
Always smile, you look good when you do.
“And that’s it.”, I said to myself. Come to think of it, this is a love letter meant for someone. I wonder who wrote it and to whom.
Now as I take off my shirt to prepare myself to sleep(?), I found something on the left side of my chest—it’s icky, it’s liquid and ink. 3:38AM, 14 June 2009.
