Dear Widow's peak

Dear Widow's peak,

Cupid's arrow struck Primrose. He loved buying roses for himself. He was clever, bright, yet selfish. He woke up next to his roses one day and saw a love letter. It was written in red ink. Just like this. Frankly terrified him. He was timid of love. The first time he realized that he was asexual was at twenty-nine years old. For over five years into the future, Primrose's birthday was on October 20th. He turned thirty years old. His friend died because of anemia. It's easier for Primrose now that he has a part-time job as a typewriter. But that proved too much, too much on his hands that proved he did not need anyone. The love letter somehow appeared on his desk. He remembered locking the door entrance last night. "Hum?" somehow someone invaded his apartment. It was a mystery person or even an alien from Super Earth. Primrose had only a bunch of paper, a coffee mug, and the Bible on his desk. Whom could it have been? He had only one friend. Did he reincarnate? He was infatuated with himself, an asexual being. He was assertive, sensual, and brave. Very brave. Well established. He remembers seeing a blonde woman smiling in an emergency room. He was suspicious of her for quite some time. When Primrose had to go into the emergency room to check if his blood vessels were okay. Primrose happened to be anemic. He had anemia. Low on blood. He never fell in love with anyone, but himself. He went on Instagram to check who the blonde woman was. He found out her name, her name was Rosanne. A luxury car sped up on a woman, a young one because they were hateful and taking it out on the streets. There was a possible death. Die happy, never in a violent way. Sensory of pens redness and ivory sunless. Eyes of sanctuary abyss. Can you pass this note? Thanks.

Sincerely,

David Mateo

Dettagli