Dear Taylor,
You know that moment when you realize the pathway towards romance is no longer a part of your destination? I often imagine myself surrendering to stage music from the golden days, dancing in the dark with no one. The bittersweet melodies resonate within my mind, while I move away from silence. I wonder if there’s a way for my loneliness to leave these popcorn ceiling skies.
For the longest time, it seems I’ve lost my sense of direction. There are moments when I lack the capacity to smile, but as your eloquent tunes seep into my heart again, I’m reminded that a purpose remains. They’re an invitation to realize that words possess the power to become literary fingertips. Your poetic rhythm makes me free.
While it was desired for them to wait upon your heart, they only tried seducing you to exist as a slave to your splendour. Paper edges target you when expressions are defended. When I think bittersweet, I always think of you. However, through dignity and grace, you endure all ridicule, standing firm as an example to reveal genuine strength by embracing human vulnerability. I admire you so… much.
You and I are more than fighters. Nothing is the catalyst for everything when it collides with our presence. I’m an inspiration to them, and you, a superstar, but what separates us from the rest of the world is that even pain drives our spirits to accelerate beyond measure. We own the capacity to learn from our creativity, and in turn, motivate ourselves without the need for external influences. It’s understood that more than this journey is another destination as we venture through keystrokes and pen strikes in discovery.
And I hope you’re the uninvited guest to my groom in the clutches of an evil bride, the enchanting princess to my prince gone astray. I hope you’re the psycho nightmare to my weekend bachelor playdate, the red lip classic thing to the James Dean daydream look in my eyes. I hope you’re the nerd girl to my half-dork popular boy. I can’t say that I have pockets to put my hands in, but envy the guitar that your teardrops fall upon.
Tay, all I want for Christmas is to write a song with you. Let’s go Back to December and Shake It Off so that a Love Story might Begin Again from our Wildest Dreams. I’m kind of silly though. I still haven’t seen your Bad Blood video as I fear it might ruin my image of innocent you. You’re going to have to hold my hand for that!
Treacherously yours,
Ricky
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