unrequited
Every night, I type letters to someone who will never read them. The next day, I delete them. It really is strange, this ritual that only exists because they do, because there is unmet love trapped inside of me.
Every night, I type letters to someone who will never read them. The next day, I delete them. It really is strange, this ritual that only exists because they do, because there is unmet love trapped inside of me.