I didn't say it.
I didn't say it because I did not say it without any purpose.
But now, since it was without any purpose, I feel it is still within the range of some purpose.

I didn't want to lie, I know.
But I think my hesitancy tried to hide a certain thing without intervening, with my no purpose and reason.

My hesitancy may have hidden something out of habit.

I wish all of the above were out of love towards you.
I cry about it as I say it.

Now, since I can't take back my hesitancy show that's already shown,
I wish the hesitancy feels the regret out of love-
A momentary regret out of love- that will pass quickly before reaching the point of minimalism.
©shivpoetesspriya

You don't want to talk, talk, and talk!
But you have a habit of listening, listening, and listening!
I get that right.

There is a needle that hits rightly.
The settling thing takes work.
The never-easy mode of letting go and forgiving is under amendation.

The following gems pave the way, but the bundle of reasons covered with expectations causes hurt.

I know.
Thankfully, there is a needle that hits rightly.

My ways are now more rooted in a deep allowance to you, without messing with you and burning with fire.
It has taken the form of fire in my heart, and since I'm a water person, with that fire in my heart, I immerse myself in water.

Thankfully, I know,
A clock is inside, apt for its time, and it hits the needle just right.
©shivpoetesspriya

A state of longingly position aligns with a reference that echoes your chivalry.

Its commissural linkage is close to my heart and tied with the entrusting of pointing responsibility that reaches for the protective politeness of my heart.
Your engraving look-see and the precision of the auspicious gap connects with my juncture of turning point to commune with my hope for leading me to a closed curve for taking charge of a long stop to catch my missed goals.

I started taking long walks to check my lagging.
Meanwhile, I tried performing in the loops at the ridges to release the compaction of the worthy pivot, eliminate any misvalue, and encourage my determined pursuit by retaining it as the heartening focus of my attempt.
©shivpoetesspriya

Did you ever think I would write about my disappointments with you?

Did you ever think I was upset with you?

Are you bothered about me?
The greatest truth it binds,
My good actions benefit me, and the wrong ones have a straying effect on me.

But a little notion,
a small bond my heart yearns for, is in the ashes
because I feel you don't care about me!
©shivpoetesspriya

You did not look at me because you wanted to keep me safe?
Your side gaze to a distance seems like a reason, even though I don't know much about it.

It doesn't matter to you if I feel despair when you don't give me your gaze.
Why?
To keep me safe, with what heart shall I cry the tears of understanding?

My understanding will change.
For that, shall I detach myself from not looking at you?
For what? Is it to see you again with my above questions and vote for myself to be more, right?
©shivpoetesspriya

I'm sorry.
The words said were not only about feelings that conveyed surface-level emotions, but I realized those words were much deeper in feelings and conveyed something more than that.

But how would I have understood about it then?
I don't know if I'm about to change my emotions for you, so I don't know.

One can write dignified phrases to offer a reward and put something on a pedestal to adore it thoroughly. Similarly, one can write and create hatred against someone wholeheartedly in writing: all this happens in writing.

I think one can ask oneself while writing;
Did you open up your wounds and revisit your emotions without scratching them but feel hurt again?

It is like you are holding your piece in front of you and asking if it broke you or if you laughed at it when it sang a sad song to you.

I agree; my childishness continues, and I feel hurt when you can look at me but choose not to!
©shivpoetesspriya

The rigidness and stubbornness.
It seems like a waste.

At the end of the day, all its tenants
are galloped by the sorrow.

When sorrowing eyes lower down,
they weep the pain of their heart.

And again, in just a few seconds.
The rigidness.
The stubbornness.
It seems like a waste of its futile, growling, meek efforts!
©shivpoetesspriya