I wanted to be brave enough to get myself into your heart as you are living in mine those three months. How could you be so selfish? Or should I ask: Do you know the difference between loving and liking so much?
Neither of us know.
I tried to put everything in somewhere away from me and stop thinking about the asshole of you but just can’t. Or I have to say I don’t want to. I am happy like this.
I felt so bad, anxious, worried… But as magic, when I hugged you, I felt safe.
I was badly sure about all of that and everything… about my love to you… because my love to you was everything. But not anymore.
I loved you why exactly? Your eyes? Your body? Lips? Face? Hair? No… I keep thinking about your poetry, your classical music, your vision, your heart, your calm character, your smile, your serious face, your compliments, your way to deal with things… all of you honestly! I am truly not obsessed; my words can show you more than that.
But it isn’t enough. Love was never enough. Should it be there other things? I don’t know.
I know that everything will be fine, but sadly, even awesome things don’t last until the end.
The whole thing is that I don’t feel I belong to here anymore. I am in love with you, as I am in love with Shakespeare, as I am in love with the smell of old books, as I am in love with the fresh air in the early morn; they are all things that I can’t touch.