Dear Emily,

Hey, it's me again. I wonder if you read the last letter. I dropped this one again into your locker anyway.

This is stupid. You probably think it's annoying. But you do own my thoughts now. Every time I pick up a pen to write, all I could write are poems about you.

I'm not trying to sound romantic, in case you read this the wrong way. It's utterly frustrating to not be able to write the type of poems I used to. But it's even more frustrating that I spend every living minute thinking about you, yet I cannot reach out to you in real life.

I miss you, Emily.

In the end
You forgot
Those times we shared
They meant so damn much to me
And I know you care.

In the end
Those wishes
Dreams
We left them behind
We got caught up
In 'the line'.

In the end
We will still stay the same
This is true love
This is no game.

In the end
No
There is no end
This is an eternal story
Of you and me
Till infinity.

Love,
Kian.