I love to write her name,
On every poems and lines,
In hope for her,
To finally be mine.
I love to write her name,
Spelled with utmost attention,
In hope for her,
To realize my affection.
And I love to write her name,
Though my days are blue,
In hope for her,
To have a clue.
But I know,
This ink will go dry,
And this page might be teared,
Yet I will still write your name,
In hope for me — to know your answer.
Because assuming is somehow believing for some people, at least for me.