Whenever you think I'm asleep, I hear you whisper sweet words to me. I feel your fingertips going over my skin and worshipping my body. 
Whenever you're asleep, I whisper the words right back to you.
You make me feel safe, Roman. 
You're the only person I've loved so deeply and fiercely, not being with you takes my breath away and I'm merely existing. 
Even if you don't forgive me, or don't want me back, I need you to know I love you.
I will move on with my life, but know that I once loved you in this lifetime and that not one moment, wasn't real. 
Yours
Alyssa


"Oh baby," I whisper, and feel myself getting choked up. The letter is shaking in my hands, yet I can't seem to let go of it. 
The past few weeks without her have been hell, and all I want to do right now is look her up and take her in my arms, kiss her lips, and promise her that I'm never letting go of her again. 
Before I even get the chance to impulsively get up and do just that, a knock resounds at the door. 
Putting the letter into my pocket, I readjust myself in my seat and wipe my eyes. Then, I clear my throat and call out; "Come in."
The door opens, and a woman enters whose hijab is the color of the sky. A woman that looks quite familiar, because Alyssa never stops talking about her best friend. 
"Hello," the woman begins and lifts her chin in the air. "You don't know me. I'm Zainab, and I've come here to talk to you about something."
"I do know you," I respond to her, and her brows lift in surprise. "And let me guess, you're here to talk about Alyssa?"
"Yes, I am," she answers and takes a seat without any hesitation. "I'm here on her behalf, even if she doesn't know about it. And yes, I know that what she did was stupid and I told her multiple times to just come clean to you, but she was too busy being delusional and thinking all was going to be fine."
I remain silent, urging her to continue. 
She does so. "And I also told her to give you some space. But, that doesn't mean you get to treat her like shit, either. Trust me when I tell you she knows how much she fucked up and how much she regrets what she did. She's not herself anymore and her heart is utterly broken. I know yours is, too, but I can just see how miserable the both of you are without one another. And it's actually very sad."
"I'm not here to ask you to take her back, but just to reevaluate everything. Was sending her out of your life worth it? Are you happier this way? Was the reason good enough to end up like this? Because from an objective point of view, it's an issue most healthy couples work through."
"I know," I reply, cutting her off. "And no, it's not worth it. I'm not happier this way, and it's been killing me."
"Good," she says and narrows her eyes at me. "That's how you know what kind of treasure you've lost."
With that, she stands up and heads for the door. I have no idea what to say to what she just said, but it's all true. 
And when Zainab leaves, her words linger in the air.
And they remain with me throughout the whole day, until I get home. I know it's not worth it to lose her over this. I know.
As I arrive at my front door, I see a large package standing in front of it and halt. My brows furrow as I observe the package, and I don't recall ordering anything. 
I slowly approach it and look at the sender, who just happens to be unknown. But my name and address are displayed. 
A part of me wants to be cautious and not open it, in case it could be harmful. The curious part of me is demanding that I take it inside and see what's in there.
The curious part wins, of course. 
It doesn't weigh that much, and I've got it on my dining table in mere seconds. I open it up and the first thing I see is a frame. 
Now, my frown deepens and I take it all out, looking at what's displayed on the frame. 
My heart stops for a mere second as I take in the familiar strokes and style of the artist that painted this piece. 
Magnolia. 
As soon as I take it in, I see that it's not a piece I've seen before and must be new. 
But the unfamiliar quickly becomes familiar. 
In the painting, there are two people displayed from the lips down. A woman is standing in front of the man, her familiar body a warm color on the canvas. Her curves are painted beautifully, though her body is cut off at the top of her breasts. 
And behind her, stands a man with his upper body naked as well, his arm wrapped around her and clearly holding the woman close to him. 
His arm is resting over her breasts, making her lean into him. Her curls are falling over her shoulders.
If it wasn't because I know Alyssa's body like the back of my hand, no one could recognize who's in the painting.
And that's me standing behind her. 
It's a painting of us, by Magnolia. Their signature is right at the bottom like it always is. 
But how?
Magnolia doesn't sell their work, much less do custom paintings for someone else. 
I inspect the frame and turn it around. A note is tucked into one of the corners, and I immediately take it out.
Folding it open, I take in the familiar handwriting on it and feel my heart nearly stop beating. 
"For all the nights you held me and for all the touches I gave you, these are the words that were poured into them: I love you."
My eyes go back to the painting, and an inexplicable feeling of love fills me. 
How I love my girl.
Is she yours? 
I made sure to make her hate me, all because I was hurting. 
My eyes never stray away from the painting and the heartburn starts all over again. 
I love you right back, baby. 
. . .
tip: if ur sad just do ur make-up.
sorry if there are any grammar mistakes
i love you.