Shuffling through some old articles, I was on my knees, rummaging on the lower shelf of the closet. I had to stack up the necessities, disposing of the nugatory items. My playlist was on and Olivia Rodrigo's Driver's license was currently on the play.
Stuffed in the cardboard, my hand discovered a crumbled piece of sheet.
I dug it out, and the inverted impression of the scribbled words piqued my interest. Unfolding the white paper, I saw it painted with my sentiments, beholding corrugation. As each line went right through my soul, it unfurled the rifts furthermore, the resonating lyric engulfing my space and remembrance of September evening played once again.
A facade of appeasing smile moulded, adoring the adulated elucidating, I once exhorted to put down on it. But it wasn't destined to get into the hands of its recipient. Brimmed-up tears became a threat to descend down and a suffocating sheer embosomed my heart, compelling it to mirror the crumbled sheet, clenched onto it by my fingers.
I was made to realize the depth of ardour for the person I loved...
...still do.
└───❀*̥˚───❀*̥˚
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ᑕᗩᑎOᑎ Iᑎ ᗪ
أدب الهواةꜰᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩, "𝘐'𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘧 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘯𝘢𝘪𝘭 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐'𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘳𝘺." �...