It’s been a while.

Since your dark thoughts, your dystopian realities, your crude remarks.

I miss it, truly.

I don’t know you, I doubt you care about me,

I’m not sure if this is healthy..

Let me confess,

If I saw that hand of yours that wrote the things that has been scribed, typed,

I would grab that hand and plant a thousand kisses, matching the words in your poetry.

This obsession…I forget about it for a while, thank god, but every time I enter this realm of a million words,

My mind is filled of you.

This is not a love letter, this is a letter for I need to get away from this desperation.

I need you full heartedly.

I want your words to whisper me to sleep.

My eyes will never rest until that hand of yours return to scribe,

My scribe.