Please know that I am tired of writing poetry for people who are just passing by.
I spent enough nights drowning myself from the heartbreaks I always romanticize with my words. I broke my heart enough to learn that there will be wrong ones I can never let go of because they felt too right.
But I am tired of being an excerpt of someone’s story. I am tired of being loved partly, of receiving less of what I deserve, and of being a temporary “always”.
I spent my years being a summer escape, a second option, and not the right one. I am tired of showing my naked soul to the people who won’t embrace it. I am tired of comparing them to the waves and wildflowers when all they do was leave—and never came back.
And I hope it’s you who will make all my bruises worth it. I hope you’re that lifetime person I won’t stop writing poetry about.
I hope you’re the one who will finally make me romanticize the good little things; including how soundly you will sleep on my shoulders during lazy afternoons, how I will get a quick kiss from you before going to work, and how I will hold your hand every time you’re shaking in fear.
I hope you’re the one who will cross my path and will find a good reason not to leave.
I hope you’ll find me more than a maybe, a what if, or a regret.
I hope you’re the one who will see bravery on my scars, art on my imperfections, and galaxies on my marks.
I hope you’re that one who will not save me—because you want me to do it by myself.
I hope you’re not gonna be just a wish upon the stars, nor a letter to Santa—but a reality finally resting on my arms.
To my next one, I hope you’re the one.
