Dear Kyle,
I'm supposed to be regretful.
Honestly I should be filling this letter up with reasons that I'm sorry. Telling you how much it all was a mistake and that I'm sorry. Begging that you forgive me for my fuck up. But I'm not.
Not even the tiniest bit of me is sorry. None.
So I'm not going to say any of that.
Now I will tell you what I am sorry for. I'm sorry because I can't be with you everyday. That you're gone, and there's nothing I can do anymore. That hole in me that you left is never going to heal itself. Im sorry that whenever I think of your wonderful chocolate eyes, all I can think about was what I did to them. How your body was motionless and all I did was stare at you, marveling in the beauty.
You're beautiful. Dead or alive every bit of you is a masterpiece. From your chestnut hair to wonderful beard everything about you is perfect. I never believed in perfection until I met you. You always denied it, blind to your own beauty.
But I saw it.
I saw that raw beauty. Like when I took that picture of you that day. You only had on your boxers and were watching some old film. That's when I took the picture of you, the one in looking at now. Your hair is ruffled, and and you honestly just look so interested in the shitty film that it makes me smile. It's captivating to see somebody like that. That's why that picture of you never leaves my side.
That's beauty.
You're beauty.
Love,
Danny
---
Hey everybody, so I'm gonna start a brand new story. This is gonna be kind of weird and a lot like lost boy as its in the form of letters.
Thanks for reading:)
