I sit here, pen in hand,
and all day —
you’ve been the only one on my mind.
Dangerous, maybe,
unhealthy, surely,
to let you live there rent-free.

I love you so much
it’s grown into obsession.
I laugh at myself,
begging for your attention,
knowing it’s not your fault
you can’t give me what I crave.

You love me —
but I am not your priority.
Not yet,
or so I tell myself.
It stings sometimes,
but maybe it’s good —
it means your eyes stay fixed on your goals,
and that focus is one of the reasons
I fell for you.

Oh, how I wish I could be like you.
To hide my feelings,
to match your pride,
to meet your ego head-on.
To not fold when your silence comes,
to not be the first to give in
when we clash.

It’s unfair —
how I love more than you love me.
Unfair —
that I would bleed for you,
and still offer the last drop of my blood
if you asked.
That I would place you above everyone,
even those who gave me life.

Sometimes I wonder —
do you laugh at me?
Do I look foolish
when I run back into your arms?
I want to love you,
but not so deeply
that I lose my dignity.
Yet I want you to feel
every heartbeat
that beats for you.

I know you love me.
But I also know
there are twenty things you care about
before me.

Still — I’ll wait.
I’ll wait for the day
you open the walls around your heart,
for the day you aren’t afraid
to show your affection.
Because my love
is patient enough
to stand in the cold
until you let me in.

He is not a villain.
He is ambition in motion,
goal after goal,
hands steady on the wheel of his life.
A man carved from drive,
the kind others look at
and say—he will make it.

I see the steel in him,
the certainty,
the quiet confidence of someone
who knows what he wants.
And I love that man.
I admire him.
I chose him.

But behind the steel,
there are walls.
Walls made of pride so high
even sunlight struggles to climb over.
Walls built from a fear
that the world is full of knives,
and every hand—
even mine—
could one day hold one.

He says nobody is true.
And so, he holds everyone
at arm’s length,
even as he pulls me close.
It is a strange kind of love—
where I am held in his arms
but kept just outside his heart’s gate.

I tell him,
I am not here to stab,
I am here to stay.
But his walls don’t listen.
They have heard too many promises
before mine.

So I stand in front of those walls,
loving both the man and the fortress—
hoping one day,
he will believe
that I am not here to tear him down,
but to live
inside the home of his trust.

A decade passed, and half of it—
I only knew you.
Best days, worst days,
all wore your name like perfume in the air,
sweet and heavy.
I wanted to carve my skin into yours—
that’s how much I loved you.
A terrible, beautiful obsession.

I mirrored you.
Liked what you liked.
Thought how you thought.
You weren’t just love—
you were teacher, brother, father.
Naive little me,
too confident in your light.
I could see a trillion women
and still feel like one in a trillion—
because of you.

Yes, I was damaged,
but not broken from the start—
life did that, not me.
And then you turned into life too,
into its crueler shadow.
You took the light you gave,
ripped every thread of esteem from me,
until I was bare.
I know you loved me—
but you found someone
who looked better in the light.
You made her your gallery—
post after post,
caption after caption.
You never did that with me.

Still, I never blamed you.
I told myself it was just life.
That I wasn’t your type.
But what hurt—
wasn’t that you loved her—
it was that you lied to me,
so I couldn’t let go.
You let me bleed in silence,
believing you still cared.

I tried to move on.
I really did.
But love has a cruel echo,
and somehow,
we found each other again.
I was scared.
Terrified—because I knew
I’d still fall for you.
And I did.
Harder, deeper,
against better judgment.

Now you say you love me—
but love has faces,
and yours looks different.
You never showed me off,
never gave me captions or pride.
When I see your crew,
I hide.
I think they laugh at me—
maybe they do.
Maybe that’s why you hide me too.

I post pictures,
then delete them—
afraid you’re ashamed.
Afraid you’re comparing me.
You say I’m beautiful,
but your silence
is louder than your words.
You told the world she was special.
You whisper that I am.

And still I ask—
not if you love me,
I know you do—
but do you want me?

Because some people
love things
they never plan to keep.

But I—
I have only ever loved you
with my whole body,
my entire soul.
Even now,
as you begin to doubt
what I know has never changed.

Every day,

something inside me whispers

leave.



You tear at me,

sometimes without knowing,

and when you do know,

you wear the look of someone

who thinks I’m faking the hurt.



I chose you.

Why can’t you see that?

You measure my flaws

but never my effort.

You say—

If someone else makes you happy, choose them.

And I wonder,

how can you speak those words

and not feel the blade in them?

You think you’re setting me free,

but all I hear

is that you don’t care

whether I stay

or disappear.



The truth?

There is no “someone else.”

There’s only you.

And still I cry,

because you imagine

another heart in mine.

Then you say—

I love you.

But how can I trust those words

when your doubt

is louder than your love?



It hurts—

because I’m still willing to stay

in your storm,

still willing to breathe

your poison air,

still willing to let you

tear me apart,

piece by piece—

knowingly or unknowingly—

and yet choose you

until the day I die

in your arms.



She—

the one who knows my soul—

is scared.

Disappointed.

She sees me choosing you over myself,

and fears the day

I might choose you over her.

I swore to her I never would,

but deep down I know—

if it came to that,

I would.

Because I always almost do.



We dreamed a future,

but now you say

I am not yet your soulmate—

though you want me

to carry your child.

I understand—

marriage is not the prize for either of us.

But if it were with you,

it would be.



You say love alone

cannot hold a lifetime,

that even someone who loves you

could still betray you.

And I see—

you are broken too.

A bird with bruised wings,

shielded by pride and ego.

And I—

only shattered glass,

stripped of dignity.



We were young when we began.

Back then,

we were real.

Now our words drift without roots.

Once, we grew from each other’s views—

now we listen to the noise of the world,

not the rhythm of our hearts.



Still, baby—

I will stand in your fire.

I will let you burn me.



And I hope one day

you will see—

my love was never

fake.