His Note

He needed to write.

He needed to let go of everything. It was too much in too little time. She was far away, she was not a tiny bit close to him, and she probably never would. He had to let it go...

"I can't see anymore. I can't hear, or think of nothing else. She's not here. I
can't see her. And she will never see me. This is a secret love I will take to
the grave, for I can't even dream of holding her hand. I've dreamt of beautiful
landscapes, beautiful words and sounds coming from her lips, dreamt of her eyes
covering me in their warmth... I've dreamt of every possible beautiful detail in
her, but I can't see myself holding her hand. I can't see my arms around her. I
can't dream of ever kissing her."

He took a deep breath. He was finding hard to say what he wanted to say without saying it straight to the point. He was never a simple guy, he liked his own personal drama. Yet everything he was writing down in his beautiful calligraphy was completely true: he was tied to a secret, yet impossible, love story. A story he couldn't complete even in his wildest dreams.

"I feel like I've given up, but I really haven't. I am still here, in the
dark, waiting for her shining beacon. I don't care about what people say. I
don't care how far she is from me. How impossible it may seem. How sad my music
is. I just want her here, is that too much too ask? I can have other ones here,
everyone, except the one I want to. Because for some strange reason, I give a
step forward and she gives three. And she gets farther away every time..."

Now tears were starting to cuddle in his eyes. It wasn't the first time he stained his notes in tears... He needed her. And she didn't realize it, not because she didn't want to, but because he couldn't let her know. He was tied, he was silenced, and he was dying by the second. His time was running out, and she wasn't aware of that. He could look at her, and she could look at him, not realizing what was going on inside his eyes...

"I could make her happy. And she could make me the happiest. Though I would
like to be saying this in her face, and not just in plain paper..."

He addressed his last lines to her, as if she were reading them. As if those lonely words would ever make it to her shining eyes and make her realize how much he needed her, how much she meant to him...:

"I just want to say you're beautiful. Plain beautiful. You're my own
personal angel, and you don't even know it. Perhaps that's better, isn't it? You
don't have to force yourself to be here, because you already are. I already have
you in my mind, in my heart. If only I could touch you, watch you in your sleep,
keep you safe inside your dreams... I would kiss you goodnight and leave the
lamp on, I wouldn't let anyone or anything haunt you... I would be your guardian
angel. You'd never be alone... And if you're reading this, if you really are,
know who I am. Know me, and know I breathe because you breathe as
well.

And know, too, that my heart beats for you, and the day that your
heart beats for someone that's not me, and you are happy, then I shall be too,
in my own personal way. I wouldn't be able to see you in some other person's
arms, but I would feel glad to see you smiling. To see you smiling and never
shed a tear for someone... Because your smile will light up my eyes every
morning, and will let them sleep every night. Smile, breathe, and live, my love.
I will stand guard. I will wait, and I will fight. Know that I'm here... Know
that I secretly, and forbiddenly, love you..."

He fell asleep, his note held tight against his chest. His dreams, again, of her and her beauty, but never of holding hands. She would never love him. He didn't deserve her, and he knew it. That's what made it so impossible.

That's what made him so miserable...