Literature
Too late_.
I waited too long that the autumn leaves
changed into all the colours they possibly
could and cluttered the streets.
The bitter crackling noises quietly
mocked me as I walked over the
leaves, crushing them into tinier pieces.
Winter's blizzards were no match
for the frostbite that punctured my
wasted heart.
Dare I say, without your love
my heart felt colder than snow. Even
the snowman was better off and he
had no soul.
As bright and arduous
as the summer sun,
its heat waves cannot melt away the
feelings I had grown towards you.
In a battered, old box, I had
stored the countless handwritten letters
that I had never