Sketches of his blurred feelings that he drew unwittingly for her turned into a train of drafted letters that, at the end, never reached its desired terminus.
Umm, actually, this blank sheet of paper is alluring my heart to put all my accumulated feelings on it, hypnotizing me to wrap my love in words and give you an intangible gift. Although words are poor vehicles, they are insufficient mediums through which love cannot travel. But still, I'll try to count all the stars that are glued to the heavens above. I, a transient little moment, will try to pluck the petals of eternity.
Well, you do look good in every outfit—the mascara you apply, your nude lips, the blush—but there's something lacking, you know. You need some adornment that's missing, and stupid me thought that I could be that adoration. I thought I might look good on you, like a jewel—a jewel that you might never like to take off. I want to give you everything that I have out of my sheer gratitude toward you for your very existence. Furthermore, I want to give my fragrance after we sink in together, Hickeys on your neck, bear hugs, kisses on your forehead, my shoulder for you to lean on, and all the love that God has showered on me (sshh, but don't tell him, 'Kay?). Hahaha, I know I'm being stupid, but I think only the stupid can love unconditionally because intelligence weighs everything. It won't give someone anything from whom it can't extract anything greedily. Intelligence wants; stupidity gives whatever it possesses. It's like, where there's stupidity, love reigns. I won't stop loving you even if you don't revert because my love ain't dependent on yours; it's independent, therefore it's royal.
I think love is like a radiance; it's like the fragrance of a flower. The fragrance won't die even if nobody gets a sniff of it. Even if you crucify it, crush it, or distort it, it'll still be as fragrant as it is. For me, stupidity is the highest degree of intelligence because stupidity is innocent; therefore, love dwells in that innocence, and so does God. Well, just to say how much I love you—although love cannot be quantified—I write poetry not out of my liking for writing or because it's my hobby, but because I think by doing so, I'll make you dwell in my words for eternity, thus chanting the hymn of immortality. I'd really tell my friends to recite those poems that I wrote about you at my funeral. It will be the most beautiful "happy ending" for me, and just look at my silly fate—that too I won't be able to witness.
Never mind, I write poems when I cry, and I cry a lot—not because of sadness, but because of love. Still, tears are raining from the wombs of my eyes. For me, crying is everyone's personal poetry, their personal literature, and their purest treasure that will stay with them till their last hurrah. Huh, I think I've philosophized my love enough. Well, it's not my concern whether you love me back or not; just don't forget to love yourself. I know you already know it, but take it as a reminder that you're drop-dead gorgeous. Try skirts too, heheh! Bye!
Letters to Her