I'm a young author. I dream about things, I observe and feel everything that surrounds myself.

but all I can see is you, you made me realized how beautiful the world is, reminding me how I'am lucky to be alive.

I write my daydreams about you, oh how I wish you'll do this to me.

how I wish you feel the same...

I kept on secretly writing things about you, but

... I suddenly lost my inspiration, where did it go? 

Where was my love for you go?

Was it a sign to say to you face that I love you so much that I can fill all those notebooks about how perfect you are to me?

or not?