I write.
No, I wrote.
I used to.
I wrote
For someone back then
Who inhabited my world.
With so much zeal, I wrote
About our stories and quotes
I wrote
For someone I can fairly describe
Through my scribes.
I wrote
For an insatiable young man
Who, for me, was the only one
Able to move my hand to scribble
The words I found hard to babble.
I wondered, how in the world
Have I loved someone
So much even if I’m told
That vampires do exist
And that they’re icy-cold?
Rejected, wounded and hurt
Bruised, used and abused
Since then, I stopped writing
Pledges of love fading
Spent hours and hours crying
Words lost their meaning.
I stopped writing,
The note pads were left blank
My pens couldn’t leave a mark.
Since then, I stopped writing
Until someone took back
The verses once gone,
Turned “my” thoughts
Into thoughts of “him”
Until someone took the time
To light the candle
When my mind’s a dim.
Until finally, somebody
Understood the unspoken
I wondered, how in the world
Have I loved… again?
What kind of love is this, some may ask
Unexpected, unrequited
Something I didn’t choose, I just
Accepted the fate and braved the task
Of being the best friend he needed
When everything’s failing I was there
Falling.
What kind of love is this, I asked
Vulnerable yet reserved
The irrational kind of love
Which I needed to justify
To the God I praise
Asking, will I conform or defy?
The kind of love that brings confusion
Doesn’t bring out the best but the least
A fast-paced love affair, not fair
Will the heavens approve this union?
I prayed hard for discernment
To the God I praise
Blessed, answer has been granted
“End it, cut the attachment.”
