To the person who drew stars around my scars,
The scent of your favorite black jacket you placed around my shoulders the night we watched the moon kissed the sky good night still lingers in my nose just like how my feelings for you remains the same, all bottled up in a vial called love. The songs you have always loved, the books you're obsessed with, and the gently brewed coffee that you said gave you warmth and peacefulness—I have taken quite a liking to it, your favorites have become mine, but above all of it, the angel who transcended from the heavens out of nowhere the moment I shred tears out of the loneliness I've felt under the moonlight on my 16th birthday, was the most fascinating of it all—it was you, the happy-ever-after I wished to have, the lost love that can never, ever, find its way back to my embrace.
Hurting,
Seah.
YOU ARE READING
letters never sent
Poetryvintage papers inside a bottle that has been washed away by the waves of memories, letters never sent.
