too lovely. you heard it right; you're too lovely. if i had a dollar each time you cross my mind, i'd be the richest person on the planet -- but no, my dear, that is not the case. i may not have a lot of money or the right amount of recognition for my works, but you make me feel like i'm the greatest writer to ever hold a pen, hell i even feel so rich just by being with you; the word rich is subjective, isn't it? and just so you know i'm drowning in riches.

i know how much you love the likes of lang leav and rupi kaur; what a beautiful soul you have. but neither of those two could write about you like how I write about you; i would sprinkle my thoughts of you in a blank page like water in a bed of parched roses, for you're the saving grace of all my literary endeavors. nothing i do is colorful without a hint of you. and then i would ask myself: how much do i really love you? all i know is only madness awaits when i lose even the slightest memory of you.