A Love Letter To You
Will I still love you when I'm thirty?
I know that I love you now, although our worlds are pretty much apart. And it would be impossible to see you—like no one ever has. I'm tired of seeing the surface. But if it's the only thing I can be offered, I'd gladly accept it and pretend to see no difference.
I can just imagine how many girls like me have caught on the fact that this dream only exists to those who are ready to dream. In all honesty, I think that it plainly sucks, knowing that there would be completely no chance that I'd be meeting you.
Strangely though, I'm contented with that. I feel secured.
Because it would simply be more painful if I'd wake up from this illusion, the very same moment I lay my eyes on you and you wouldn't bother to look at me back.
I'm busy with my life, as you are busy with yours—on the stage—where you belong. But does that mean that I couldn't keep your name written in this paper heart of mine? Thousands too, have the same wish. And I'm just one of them, focusing my all on that one star in the sky. They same sky, which has billions of them.
Still, I can't help myself wondering.
Will they be willing to stay by your side—even if it means to be in the audience for years, just letting Time pass by with its usual route, with its usual pace? Will they remain, waving banners of all things yellow, flashing those glowing sticks, without giving up the desire to know who you really are—without counting the days, without counting the minutes… without beginning to think that their efforts are being wasted in trying to get your attention, though they fully know that you wouldn't spare them another glance, just because you have more fans to please and a couple more hundreds of girls to smile at?
And I can't bear the thought of losing you, all the same.
But you know what? I would do all of those things, still. And I would love to do so.
Until I could stand no more.
Until I could cheer no more.
Until the sparkle in my eyes would fade.
Until I couldn't remember my own name.
Nevertheless, I would continue remembering yours.
So, will I still love you when I'm thirty?