Endeared Miss A. (°)#))<<

Endeared Miss A

I still check your blog every day, as if I still wanted to take care of you.

I shouldn't have been so curious. I wouldn't have been so angry. 

I'm tracing a line here. You ought to not cross it.

What would they change for us, you and me?

I do still feel lonely. But there are certain triggers that have me enraged rather than sad. You do not know this part of me. I had to learn how to look after myself. I had to be strong. I had to get over it. And so I did. I did not allow myself the grief. I have been tougher.

I do not allow myself to mourn you, but I do. I do not regret anything. Everything is an opportunity to grow and learn. Right now, the things I feel for you are limited by the amount of words I know. It's like the sea. It swings me gently, but I do not dare to dive into it. Like a sailor who tells tender stories of how the waves speak to him. He feels powerless in his tiny boat but feels safe enough to trust the tides to guide him home.

Like an artist. He encourages people to theorize on his pieces, even though they are all wrong. The meaning behind his work is safe within his heart, but he enjoys the passion with which people interpret his art. In every new debate, a different version of him blossoms, and that might as well be art too.

It's snowing outside and going out to play might be fun, but now I'd rather be safe inside my home. I'm content with just admiring it from my window.

I too, dear. Except for a bracelet that I snapped when frustrated. I haven't had the courage to put its pieces back in my box.

Knowing you think of me feels tender. Indirect communication through 'letters' seems charming.

I'm scared to sleep, I'm scared to dream.

Stay safe

S. M.

PS: I put false symbolism in my art to confuse and delay you from understanding. Remember when I said we are in control of how others see and know us? I send false signs to give you a harder time. Overanalyzing me is no use.