ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟ ᴘᴏᴇᴛʀʏ ᴄᴏʟʟᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ :)

---

Lacking of self-preservation and desperate for consolation, I seek the shelter of four walls, the same very ones I was greeted by two years ago.

The familiar comfort of the pages that host engraved thoughts and values serve as a reminder of others' talent, which, stupidly so, reminds me of my own lacking of such.

I would love to admire your writing, the same handwriting that I barely acknowledged before, but I no longer have the opportunity to see it.
Every letter will mock me anyway, making me wonder where everything went wrong.

Your messages are empty, lacking of emotion, like messaging me is just a chore.

So I don't reply.

I find more emotion in walls that lack feelings than in your texts,
But yet I still look at you as you pass me in the corridor.
It's a form of attachment I cannot quite resist.
But your smile is so gorgeous,
And even if I cannot be your love, your friend, anything more than a classmate,
I would like to distribute the clear emotion from my own deteriorating state;
You're so perfect, so gorgeous, so everything that I won't ever compare to.

And that's why I've decided to let you go.

With another step into the library, the six computers welcome me with the same time as always, the empty seats encourage me to sit, do my work, and forget.

(It's been a while.)