૮₍´ ꒳ ` ₎ა :
I haven’t opened the journal I’ve written about him since May. The journal consists of my reverence and affection towards him. I could’ve published it as a book—that’s how long it is. Love is an odd thing. To experience it is to feel anguish and, at the same time, to feel yourself. Because, while I was loving him, I was also loving myself. It is a destructive way to yearn, but sometimes, love is the cure. Not in the way that will mend your shattered heart, nor be the bandage. But it is a journey that would lead you into something that you will just suddenly say, "Oh? I did this." He would probably be my forever muse. I hope one day I can say that I love him with my whole soul. Not entirely giving it, but telling him that he is endearing. To my dearest, Armaan. You will never read this anyway, but I still long for you. I do not know if you will send a reply, but it is okay if you will not. I will be waiting for you here. Nonetheless, I always wish you well. You won’t greet me on any holidays, but I know you will expect that I will : )
2026-07-05 04:27:44