la carta de amor

setenta

070

This isn't about you. But it's frustating to think about someone when you know full well that they don't care about you.

Oh. I'm sorry. This is about you, afterall.

I haven't been contacting or bugging you that much. And my oh my, am I feeling needy.

It's frustrating. I don't like to talk to you anymore. I want something more. I'm getting greedier and greedier every day we talk.

I want to see you. I want to be physically be there with you—no, beside you.

I want to be with you.

And I think my greedy self is going to take its time to cope up with the fact that it won't happen no matter how hard I wish for it.

I can only be with you and talk to you virtually. I don't even know if I can reach you emotionally. Fuck's sake, I don't know what to feel anymore.

I don't know what you think of me, I don't know a thing about your feelings. And I still am curious. Your feelings didn't reach me well and I cannot read you at all.

I remember that I wrote a poem and told you that my love for you's like a language I do not know of. I was wrong. You are like a language I do not know of. You spin my curiosity deep. Too deep, I go crazy if I can't understand it.

I can't understand you. You're not open to me. You have a lot of secrets you don't tell me.

You don't wanna be read... don't you?

(5/3/2017)