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love, flute boy
He is like a long love letter,
a stranger who I’ll never know.
His hair, and eyes, and nose, and smile could be no better,
For which my love will only grow.
His letter sings the most beautiful tone,
Silver, shining, wonderful script,
When I’m with him, I’m soaring, never feel alone,
But he sees right through me, and my wings are clipped.
But his letter has no wretched end;
He’s a melody that will forever repeat.
His pen will always write to me, a dear friend,
And his voice will eternally be sweet.
Let him sing and adore and exist and be;
It’s fine he does not love me.