The Fourth Year

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    "W-wait!?! You mean me!?!" Alfred questioned. The caller smiled.

"Of course I mean you, Mr. Jones!" The publisher replied. "I've read all of your poems, and they all sound so beautiful. I bet (Y/N) loves them!" 

"Oh, (Y/N) heheh," Alfred spoke. "She hasn't actually replied how she feels yet,"

"Huh, really..." The publisher said. "Well, I hope she replies soon, because it's very evident you love her,"

"I hope so too," Alfred replied. "Well, thank you so much for the offer! I accept!" 

"That's great!" The publisher replied. "We'll have to gather all the poems you want published, and then we'll contact you about later information,"

"You bet!" Alfred said, smiling. "Well, thank you so much! It's an honor,"

"No, thank you, Mr.Jones," The publisher replied, then hanging up the phone. Alfred smiled, as he got back to work, writing poems for (Y/N).

"Huh... I wonder if (Y/N) will ever reply..." Alfred said, already knowing the answer to that question. Just then, an idea struck him.

"Hey, I've got an idea for another set of poems," Alfred spoke to himself, as he grabbed another piece of paper, and started scribbling some words down. Though he wouldn't send this letter to (Y/N), it would be a record of all that's happened so far.

I have been writing these love letters
I've been sending them for four years
And there still is no reply
And there still is no reply

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