dear you, ...

"tell me you love me today,
then i'll make you my muse.
you may expect to see yourself on each of my lines, written and said."

well, that's what i've been wishing to tell you.

instead,
i already made you my muse to get over you,
to deal with one heartbreaking unrequited love.

oh, say...
to reflect on that,
i actually no longer feel that it's heartbreaking.

to fall in love alone is indeed some inevitable pain,
yet eventually the lucky ones had experienced it at least once.
hearts those broke are indeed hearts those love with trust.

to end another love letter,
have i told you, dear...
what's part of loving you that i love the most? (isn't this phrase some kind of weird?)

it's seeing your back, while guessing what kind of face were you making...
...and then when you finally turned your face to me,
it's that little happiness of "yay! see...he is smiling! :)"

yes, you, that simple being of in love with you.


ps. : you know i didn't give you nickname not because i'm not comfortable enough to do so, right? it's as simple as that you are in fact too complicated to be called over a single nickname.
ps.2 : well, actually i did consider calling you with a name, the most suitable among those couldn't perfectly catch you, ... no i won't tell. you tell me. you once called yourself that way ;)
ps.3 : i miss you.


. . .
this is a fictional love letter, not just for no one
this' definitely for you. a mysterious heartwarming breeze to my heart.

yes, you, that complicated you :)