I only want to be known as the writer that could express love extraordinarily. Forget about me, let me give the world a person to know, and a person to remember. Let me show the world what a beautiful mind you don’t know that you have, and the way that you undress mine. How you care in such a way, that even an overactive mind, like mine, can’t even begin to comprehend it all.

   Your capacity for love is immense, yet you never show need for more. You’re always wanting to mean something, wanting to mean more. And if I do this right, you’ll never truly be gone. My writings will keep you extant; alive. My writings will help you fluctuate long after your time comes to a close.

   Truth be told, you might not ever love me as deeply as I want you to. Eventually, I know that I’ll have to let go of you. Everything comes to an end. So let me give you the most realistic expense of immortality that I can. I will write of you until I’ve lost memory of your brown eyes that fade to green at your happiest. I will write of you until the memory of your laugh turns to a silent, colorless, silhouette.

   I may forget you, but the world wont.

   I simply wont let them.