from the perennially sad ‘other person’ πŸ˜†

So I have a feeling that I have this one ‘other person’ who is perennially sad and blue.
And, between us two, she is definitely the better writer. She may even be that better version of me. haha.
Take this next write up as an example.
Ah well, I guess there’s really no getting rid of her.
πŸ˜†
Happy Sunday, guys! πŸ˜‰ 🌹
i wanted to write you a letter – long, incoherent, ardent.
to tell you of the many sad and lonely days you surprisingly took away,
of the coffee cups that are more warm now (i never thought they’d ever get warmer),
the sunrises and sunsets that came and went, and came and went and did not matter anymore,
of the millions of sparkly stars i talk to every night, wishing they’d somehow tell you what i whispered to the brightest of them with my eyes closed,
of the many books i wish to read to you,
and the many books i wish you’d read me too.
of that safe refuge to some endless wanderings.
of writing stories and seeing places and going far, far away.
of trivial things and complexities,
of dreams,
and plans,
and futures.
it’s funny though,
because i’m thinking,
that maybe it’s just me thinking,
maybe it had always been just me thinking,
and how that,
perhaps you were right,
perhaps,
you were right.
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