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.”