I had nothing but hope,
That undying hope,
Pure magic.
I was in darkness,
I was bent and broken,
My difficulties had doubled,
My hurts had increased,
I carried my worries under an umbrella of fear.
But I have a stubborn heart,
I had faith and a basket of beliefs,
"No" word was not in my dictionary,
I started to live under the roof of hope.
My sufferings gave me strength,
My grief softened me,
My colleagues  betrayal wisened me.
I started to stay positive and confident,
I opened myself to criticism,
Above all, I infused myself to hard work,
At last my optimism  paid off.

Unfinished,
unpolished,
unfurnished;
unpublished.
Like us, a draft
of what can be called
"the both of us."
A draft created
that's open for change.

A change
to be better
---better
than who we are
or what we are
in the midst of the conflict
that floats around us
for the sake of us
for the both of us
---for each other.

A change
to be smoother
---smoother
with no mistakes,
with everything
in order;
consistent,
and coherent
even with the dialogues
we say that matter.

A change
to be clearer
---clearer,
meaning it is
at least what it is
meant to be conveying
with no underlying
vague wordings
when it comes
to our feelings
---for one another.

But that's there all is:
a draft
of what could be called
the both of us;
a product
of what we can become
if we make it become;
a product
of the possibilities
of what can be us,
of what might be us,
of what is it between us
between the fragments
of the words,
the lines,
and the series
of all of them
that constantly paint
faint descriptions of us,
descriptions
created [fabricated]
in my mind
like a work of fiction,
of pure imagination.

Unfinished,
unpolished,
unfurnished;
unpublished,
l­ike the poems
I wrote for us;
like the poems
about us;
like us, a draft.