Behold how countless souls pour their hearts into letters for their beloveds, a fervent wish that you had done the same, and more. Yet, here I am, drowning not in the certainty of your love, but in the depths of my own devotion to you. Were your affections sincere, or were you merely a transient spirit, a gypsy, wandering through my heart's corridors, leaving only echoes of fleeting affection in your wake?

Oh, how I yearn for a reality where you never graced my life, where your departure was as swift as your arrival. How did I become ensnared in a love so imbalanced, where my devotion eclipses yours like a blazing sun against a waning moon? Why must I be the one to pen letters and...