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I’ve secretly loved him through metaphors and song lyrics.

My heart beats in Morse Codes and linguistics.

He’s neither into whiskey nor into double cups of coffee.

“My dearest” was a meaningful word,

that only I would use to address him as a password.

Romeo was not associated with Shakespeare,

but I wish this tragic play in the face of heaven won’t disappear.

I’ve loved him for every memory we’ve shared,

even the ones he doesn’t remember having with me still flared.

My heart is all about the details, every initial, and reference to every play on words.

The involvement we did and didn’t do together lives on within me like chords.

And that’s what happens when your soul finds its mate;

everything remains even after they have left significate.