𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐒.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄: 𝐌𝐘 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄.

to my rose,

as the breath in your chest rises and falls, i cannot think of anything else.

i am writing this for the sake of my own. for i am incredibly infatuated with no way out, like being trapped in a dark cave with no light source to shine through. however, this cave is a rich velvet red. with sparkling stars and the smell of french vanilla dancing on my lungs, i am cornered by your smoldering lips of a juicy, deep pink.

earlier, you were in the study room with charlie, but it seems that he had abandoned you. i did not want to wake you. i let you be, while the soft features of your skin lay there on the red couch. i practically felt the light puffs of air that emitted from your cherry lips. your hair was tousled, frazzled like a tree struck by a thunderous lightning. it was difficult to look away.

i am at fault if this is inappropriate. i just could not help myself, as my imagination ran with the wolves that howl into the night. i apologize, my rose.

it is now time to leave. i will retract and hopefully pen another soon. with everything in me, i wish you good luck on keating's assignment.

yours,

an admirer.