Dear Love,
Our time together might have stopped, but time itself will always fly.
It flies forward, but never backwards; another painful reminder that we could never go back to what we used to be before.
By the time I read this again, I might not call you love anymore.
You might simply become a trace of memory jumbled with little healed scars that I would always carry for the rest of my life.
I should have opened the door for you when you left, in that way it could've been less painful for the both of us. I should have let go, but it doesn't matter, now I've left it wide open for you.
So I could welcome you once again, but at that time you will not be love anymore,
but a precious friend of mine.
Your friend,
L R
