Prologue.

In some forgotten corner of a dusty drawer, letters are hidden that never saw the light of day. These letters, full of ink and overflowing with emotion, are a silent testimony of an unrequited love, a love that blossomed in the abyss of despair and withered in the shadow of heartbreak.

Each written word is a sigh, a stifled cry that cries out to be heard. Despair, like a relentless storm, drags an ocean of unfulfilled longings.

The pen, in her trembling hand, cannot contain the torrent of feelings that springs forth with each stroke. Here, longing becomes a sweet torture, an endless wait that never finds its end.

In these pages, selfishness presents itself without apologies, a voracious desire to possess the unattainable, to hold that person in her arms even if only in dreams.

Determination, firm and stubborn, fights against the tide of reality, trying to hold on to the hope of a future together, even if the odds are slim.

Agony slides like poison through every line, each letter a reminder of what never was and what will never be. It is a silent pain, a wound that does not heal, a love that burns without consuming, leaving only ashes and memories.

These letters are not just words on paper, but fragments of the soul of someone who was torn apart by their feelings.

Each letter is a mirror of their broken heart, a testimony of the struggle between hope and despair, between desire and resignation. They are a window to a love that never found its place, a passion that was trapped in the confines of ink and paper.

Try not to reflect yourself in a world where love and heartbreak intertwine in a waltz of intense emotions. A journey through despair, longing, selfishness, determination and agony.

Here, each letter is a flame that burns with the strength of a forbidden love, a whisper in the darkness that will never find an answer.

Don't play with someone else's emotions or make them fall in love, because it is a dangerous weapon for the emotions of both. What you manage to feel for that lover goes beyond the understanding of ink; it is something deeper, more intense.

Maybe, one day I will dare to send even one letter, but I will not put my name so that he does not find out about my feelings.

 However, if I am lucky and I do not drown in despair, my eternal lover will be able to see my reflection between letters and recognize between each curve of my pen what my name is and then he will be able to reach my window. Whether 10, 20 or 100 years pass, I will always be waiting for him.

But, in the meantime, I will continue creating this collection of letters to a lover that were never delivered. A refuge of deep feelings and overflowing passions, a place where the heart speaks in whispers and screams that will never be heard.