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"Some truths are meant to stay folded between pages…
but sometimes, the wind has other plans."
Dear Diary,
I always write letters I never send.
It's something I do when my feelings get too loud —
I trap them in ink
and let the paper hold what my voice is too soft to say.
This one was no different.
It was a letter to him.
A letter filled with things I was too afraid to tell him —
about how he makes the silence inside me feel like music,
how his laugh turns every shadow in my head into sunlight,
how I'm scared of how much I feel.
I tucked it between the pages of my sketchbook.
Safe. Hidden. Just for me.
Until today.
We were sitting under the tree in my backyard — the one with the peeling bark and patient leaves.
He'd been flipping through my sketches, smiling at my messy doodles and exaggerated cartoon characters.
I was pouring juice, not really paying attention,
until I heard him say:
"Is this… for me?"
My heart dropped.
There it was — the letter.
Unfolded.
In his hands.
His eyes reading what my soul had whispered in secret.
I wanted to grab it.
Run.
Disappear.
But I froze.
He looked up slowly.
His face unreadable.
And I thought — this is it.
This is where it ends.
This is where I lose everything because I loved too much, too soon.
He didn't say anything for a long time.
Just held the paper like it was fragile, holy.
Then he said quietly,
"You write beautifully. And I've been feeling the same things — I just didn't know how to say them."
I wanted to believe him.
Every part of me did.
But fear is a stubborn thing.
And mine was louder than his words.
I smiled, but it was the kind you give when your chest is full of lightning and you're trying not to shake.
He reached for my hand again —
that familiar warmth,
the quiet tether.
And maybe that's when I knew:
even if the moment felt like a storm,
some storms come to water the things we've been too afraid to grow.
I don't know what happens next.
I don't know if I'll write another letter or finally learn to say things out loud.
But I do know this —
he read my truth
and didn't run.
Maybe that's its own kind of love.
Till tomorrow,
Wunor ✉️🫧
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