Dear future love, it's during nights like this one that I dream of having the warm comfort of your incandescent imaginary body, that I dream of everytime I close my eyes and finally have the only free hours of serenity i'm allowed to, to comfort my turmoil and aching mind. I sometimes wonder if you actually exist, if truth be told, I think about your existence all of the time. Are you out there somewhere? Am I just a delusional piece of atoms who are not living nor surviving, but existing, simply? Or may you, by miracle of the Greatest, be writing about me just as I am about you? My mind revolves around your heart melting with some kind of gold warmth, grabbing a pen and a piece of paper, and wondering about my existence, writing the most heart-aching gut ripping out poetry about me ever wrote before, feeling and loving every inch of my soul without even knowing who may I be, or who I try to appear. I can tell you right now, that I'm trying to be the greatest of me for you. I promise to cook you your favourite meal everytime you desire, even though I burn myself most of the times. I promise to be loyal to you even when a soulless being points at me a weapon and tells me to look at another man instead...