It’s midnight. You know, this is the time of night when I retreat into myself, slipping back into my own world—like Cinderella after the ball.

I remember everything, but in the end, it all fades into memories. And tonight… I’m writing you another letter.

The envelope is ready, your address written neatly, the stamp carefully placed on the corner. But I know I’ll never send it to you. As if that would change anything…

In my mind, I paint a picture of what would happen if I did. I imagine it all. The postman arrives just as you get home from work. You gather a stack of letters, and there, nestled among them, is a turquoise-blue envelope. Mine. You leave it for last, like always.

You’re more drawn to those that carry weight, the ones that bring with them elegance and importance.

And me? The village girl who’s always tried to stand out—only for you, always for you.

After sorting through the important mail, you head to the shower. The coffee machine hums in the background, already brewing. On the way to the bathroom, you call our favorite Japanese restaurant and order sushi. “Put the sauce on the side,” you remind them, as usual.

While everything is being prepared, you step out of the shower, the steam still clinging to your skin, and return to the pile of letters. You finally open the turquoise-blue envelope, the one that smells like me.

“I miss you, my love… Come back before my heart betrays me.”

You read the words, and I know… You’re not happy.

Loneliness looks different now. We both thought it would be easier to wake up to silence, but I’d do anything to shatter it with your voice. I’d give anything to see you walk through my door again, to wake me with a kiss and say, “Good morning.” You used to tell me that every falling star was ours.

“These are our dreams,” you’d say.

But you don’t say that anymore.

And that’s why I’ll never send you this letter…