𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐒.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄: 𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓.

to my rose,

hello once again. i am writing this letter as tears flow from my eyes, neil. like the rain, which pounds against the window of my dormitory, my eyes are leaking from the assumptions charlie has suggested.

maybe i've over heard that during the last dead poets society meeting, that you think i am someone who i am not. i will say, charlie is incorrect. i am closer than you think, my rose. i am not a woman and if that bothers you, then feel free to burn these or do whatever you wish. i am of great luck that you've even taken in interest so far, but if this revelation is repulsive for you, then i do not blame you.

i am sorry. i only began to assemble these when i need someone to speak to; when i cannot say what is burning deep within my chest. you will turn me down, i know of it. you have asked her to be yours and every time i see you, it's like i am being pushed under water with pressure pushing my head down further and further.

i have only dreams now, of you.

yours,

a forlorn secret admirer.