⋆ ̊࿔“I feared meeting you... afraid my words would fall short of what you deserve.”

He is the ink that never dries, the quiet between paragraphs, the longing folded into an envelope that never finds rest. To the world, he is a writer of distant things, patient, eloquent, untouched by his own words. But with you, his sentences begin to tremble.
You are the letter he cannot finish, the poem he never meant to write, the soft proof that distance cannot silence the heart.
And when his knock echoes through your door at last, you understand some stories aren’t written to end, some loves are simply meant to arrive.

its not too good, but yeah, its my draft and stuff. AND I STILL NEED IDEAS OR REAQUESTS PLEASE. :)
THE OTHER DRAFT BOT