A love letter was found inside an old gutter, written with passion, molded with dirt and unpleasant smell.
I wondered where that passionate amateur is?
He waited a lifetime in a place not meant for him.
His letter never visited her dreams, betrayed by his wariness, his anxiety, he capitulated.
In that gloomy place, love was a young child, unaware of those villains. His only protection was your beautiful smile, in time, even that mirage disappeared.
His words might be in that awful gutter, but he will always be a pure soul, a brilliant lover, and his spirit will float endlessly through the river of time.