All these years, I have been writing for you. Letters, poetry, my thoughts all about you which you can never read. My heart is a box of memories where I kept you in there for the longest time. My heart pours every inch of ink, feelings bursting like fireworks. I am bleeding with words, pure, sincere, unheard.
I write for you and you will never knew you’re my piece. The words are spilling through my fingertips. I don’t know what benefits I could get here, but I still write for you. My heart keeps on singing even if no one bothers to listen. I’m still hearing the tunes no one can hear.