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Dear poet.
In my lonliness that's called existence, I find myself soothed by your words.
The words of someone I haven't seen in years, touched me more than anything has, or probably ever will.
Every day, you preoccupy my mind, with more and more questions.
I found peace in those words, for reasons that I don't know.
Maybe it was the display of emotions behind your words, that I could never put into the words that I write for you.
I don't know how to explain the way I love you, or why I fell in love with your sadness.
It all goes back to the boy, the poet, who has an animal inside as well, a beast.
You keep the animal hidden, but I don't see much of the poet either, I feel there's some sort of balance of the two, which is the outershell of the man I love.
I fell for the animal just as well as I fell for the poet, every part of who he is facinates me.
When I say that you're beautiful, I'm speaking of every piece.
Maybe the fact that you have been strong for so long is really why I love you, because I admire your strength.
I read some of your stories again tonight, which probably isn't good, because every time I read them, I fall so deeply for you, all over again.
I feel like I've known you so well, for so long, just through your words.
Maybe it's that nobody knows who you really are.
You maintain yourself, as the poet and as the beast, so well inside your words, that it's breath taking to me.
I have cried many times to the words you've written, falling only more in love with you for the beauty within them.
