I once wrote a love letter to a boy who didnt love me. I told him of all the things I loved about him and how wonderful he was and how for 3 summers I had never thought of anybody but him. He read the letter and gave it back, never to be spoken about again. Sometimes I think I may regret what I had done letting a boy break my heart with a piece of paper. Months later, I burned the letter hoping to burn all memories I had left of him in my heart. Instead I burned my own skin and later forgot why I ever loved him in the first place. Years passed I think back to the time when I couldnt fall asleep and my thoughts come across the time I told a boy that I loved him and he didnt love me back. Then I remember, he probably doesnt even remember the letter I wrote to him, and the blue ink on the yellow lined paper with the smudges he never saw from the tears I had left after I handed him my heart, and he gave it right back. The piece of paper is now ashes somewhere floating around the world, hopefully coming with better luck for another girl who tells the boy she loves him. Maybe I'm not really over the boy that broke my heart all those years ago, or I wouldnt be lying in bed at 3 in the morning wishing I could read that letter just one last time.
areudirty
dailybridgerton
jimmyeatworldofficial
theartofmadeline
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