From: ABC
To: Alice
Date: October 6, 2020, 8:22 pm
whenever i find myself alone - which is often - i often find myself thinking of you. you are the steam dancing on my window pane,
but,
it is cold outside and i am tired.
do you ever think of me?
no, probably not, but i wonder - stupid i know - but wander i do; through corridors where you are holding my hand, rooms where we are closer, but its not enough. nothing will ever be enough. not my silly metaphors or prose, neither my pathetic jokes or weak attempts at comfort, because, its still cold outside, and steam is only futile attempts at warmth. maybe some of us were born to suffer so that those that may find happiness may find it with meaning. im okay with that. the sacrifice of the renaissance. the burden of aesthete. i love you alice, but i will never tell you because i am blue and you will always be orange. but thats okay, because every time i now gaze upon autumn, i know that you are there.