If I could tell you in person, if words can convey what I want you to know, this would be really, truly, amazingly easy. If I could stand in front of you, without my breath escaping me and my heart sinking, I could say it. I could tell you what I’ve been meaning to tell you for the past eight years.
I have known you for more than eight and half years and I am sure most of them have flown by in endless sleepless nights. The bags under my eyes, you are to blame for those. I don’t know why I must be telling you this, finally and in this obscure way, after all those years of manic silence. I don’t know what has caused me to suddenly awaken from my intricately woven strings of slumber and reach out to my desk to finally colour blank pages with blue ink– in a seemingly hopeless bid to express my feelings.
Another one of my old words. A letter too late.
Read it here, Your Story Club: In Letters