A Love, Unrequited; A Letter, Never Sent. Comments

Dearest Laura,
There's something strangely fleeting about this present moment, isn't there? Yet, here it is, captured in a forgotten photo, trapped within the fading whispers of cellulose. Your eyes, once pools of gentle sublimity, now appear as muted moons through the haze of time.
The picture jolts a memory awake, a memory sharp as a shard of glass. It throws me back to that night, when the truth of our connection settled in my heart - a love that bloomed only on one side. You were, and always would be, a dear friend, a source of unwavering support. But the ache for something more, something beyond the boundaries of friendship, lingered unrequited.
I can't recall why I took that photo, or why I held onto it for so long. Perhaps it was a silent testament to a fleeting dream. Now, unearthed from the dusty corners of forgotten boxes, your placid gaze unlocks a flood of memories - the scent of spring blossoms mingling with fresh rain, the nervous anticipation that thrummed in my veins. It was the night you accepted my invitation to the dance, a night etched in both joy and sadness.
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