Love me in love letters.

     Though I am often in the depths of solitude, though I know life to be hateful, I still cling to the invisible strings of gentleness brought by your warmth. Though I do not feel all that I ought to feel, I am certain I'd be grateful for believing that in another universe, we'd be kissing and there wouldn't be an ounce of doubting. It seems that the world is empty now, for the days that I spend my waking mornings wondering what is enough. I am passionately wishful for an old love, like a worn-out book, a gentle hand, and a great mind.