The room is dark.
Lit only by the faint shimmer of a candle, burning.
I had wrote something melancholy, but full of life and passion for you.
I planned on leaving it somewhere I knew only you would find, but then suddenly I changed my mind.
Anxiety crept up over my shoulders and found its way inside. Underneath my skin.
Will he appreciate your words?
Will he think of all the time that it took you to write such a profound letter?
Would he, no he couldn’t possibly understand or care about the thoughts that dwell in your mind late at night that provoked such a letter.
The embodiment of romance, I thought.
Or maybe it’s a representation of fear.
Fear, that’s why it’s burning.
That’s why the faint shimmer has dimmed and the light that once lived has receded.
All that lives here now is fear and girl trapped in her mind, in a dark room