If I saw him loving someone else,  
Would I still love him?  
I’d say no  
but the truth? It’s hidden deep within.  

I’d tell myself I’m better off,  
That it’s his loss, not mine,  
But my heart would still ache,  
As if I were stuck in time.  

I’d smile and pretend to be fine,  
Act like it doesn’t hurt,  
But inside, a storm would rage,  
As I’d watch him love her  
and feel the weight of every word.  

Would I still love him?  
I can’t lie, I know I would.  
But I’d let him go,  
For the sake of what I should.

The world fades to a whisper
voices lose their weight,  
faces dissolve into nothing,  
until it's just him,  
his presence consuming me.  

His eyes find mine,  
and everything shifts,  
a slow burn igniting deep inside,  
a pull so magnetic  
I can’t look away.  

I crave the feel of him,  
his lips on mine,  
soft and teasing,  
lingering,  
until the heat between us  
blurs every thought,  
every breath,  
until nothing remains  
but the taste of him,  
the fire he stirs inside me.

Each slice to my skin vomits words I could never say,  
A relief I feel in each cut I make.  
I’m in this body, a body that isn’t mine,  
But the pain I feel will forever be mine.  

I don’t want anyone knowing the things I make this body feel,  
I don’t want anyone knowing I’m actually not okay.  
Because they’ll know those smiles and laughs were fake  
But for how long have they been fake?  

I swear, I’m not okay.  
And every time I get better,  
It feels like I was not bad enough.  
So I relapse.  

Tears stream down my face every night.  
For a while, I stopped.  
But now, nothing could stop me from hurting.  

And if someone or something did,  
When they leave,  
I’ll fall even harder.  
That’s why this time,  
I hope I won’t get better.

I’m not mad,  
I’m just sad  
so empty inside,  
but I swear,  
I haven’t always been like this.  

I was Daddy’s little girl once,  
sweet, naive,  
careless and happy.  

Then I grew up  
and the sadness grew with me.  
I couldn’t let it out,  
so I bottled it all.  

Being mean became my mask,  
my way to hide the pain.  
It still is.  

But now I wonder  
what’s the point anymore?

You can’t love someone back to life,  
You can’t love them into loving you,  
And you can’t love someone forever.  

Hiding behind a veil,  
Covering my scars, my fears, my pain  
But no disguise can truly block the view.  

Today, I took off the veil,  
Letting you see through me,  
My raw, unguarded truth.  
I feel exposed,  
Fragile as glass,  
Terrified you’ll run  
Or stay just to judge,  
Your gaze unraveling me, layer by layer.  

And yet you wonder why the veil exists,  
Why I wear it every day.  
It’s people like you  
Who taught me to hide,  
Who made me fear being seen.

You cared about the pain I felt,  
Yet all I did was wonder why.  
Wonder why you seemed to care so much,  
When we barely spoke, barely knew each other, why?  

So I asked you, desperate to know,  
Why your care felt like it was more than it should be.  
But what I read didn’t seem right,  
It left me questioning what it all could be.  

In a moment, without thinking, I said,  
“You have no reason to care.”  
I hope I didn’t hurt you,  
I never meant to, but it felt unfair.  

How odd it must seem,  
For you to care about something so small,  
Why didn’t you see,  
I was talking about you, after all?

I’m starting to hate writing poems.  
Not because he likes writing them,  
Or because I end up writing about him  
No.  

I hate writing poems  
Because when I write, I open up.  
And opening up means admitting  
That I’m vulnerable.  

It disgusts me to know  
That people can see me like this  
Weak, exposed, and fragile.  
So yes, I hate writing poems.  

But still, I write them.  
Because writing these poems  
Feels like the closest I’ll ever get  
To talking to him for real.  

And somehow,  
In those imagined conversations,  
I don’t feel weak. I don’t feel vulnerable.  
I just feel understood.

Lips intertwined  
on a cold day.  
Your sweater, once on me,  
now clings to her.  
I knew you lied  
but your eyes,  
those deep eyes,  
told a story I wish I'd never read.  

Your gaze, now lifeless,  
once held the love I saw,  
a spark that lit your smile  
gone.  
Leaving me to question  
the mirror staring back.

What’s the opposite of love?  
My teacher asked.  
Most said "hate."  
I scoffed.  

Love, so intense,  
You feel it burn,  
It consumes,  
Takes all you are.  

Hate too,  
A fire raging,  
Consuming until  
You explode.  

But hate is not the opposite of love.  
No. It’s apathy
A quiet void,  
Where feeling ceases.  

Apathy is numbness,  
The absence of need.  
If you asked me about apathy,  
I’d say I envy it.  

Before loving him,  
I didn’t feel empty  
I just didn’t need to feel.  

Now my heart swings,  
Too much,  
Or nothing at all.  
Disconnected,  
Forever untethered.  

For now I know  
The love I long for,  
From you,  
Doesn’t exist.

When I see you again,  
I’ll wait from afar,  
watching, hoping,  
to see if you’ll come to me.  
Even just a wave  
a small sign  
that I still exist to you.  

When I see you again,  
I won’t talk to you first.  
I’ll wait,  
even if it breaks me,  
even as I wait for something  
I know might never come.  

If you text me now,  
I won’t answer.  
I’ll wait,  
just like I wait every day  
for the answers you never give.  

I’ll wait until I realize  
how foolish I’ve been,  
and I’ll answer anyway.  

I’ll try to shake off the truth  
that you don’t care,  
but it lingers  
because if you did,  
you would’ve tried.

Call me insane,  
call me crazy,  
forty poems for the same guy  
who does that?  
But try being in my head.  

I can’t stop thinking about him.  
Nothing helps.  
At first, writing these poems  
was my escape,  
my calm in the storm,  
but now  
he’s the storm,  
the calm,  
the everything.  

Even in my sleep,  
he’s there.  
I dream of him.  
I dream of the poems  
I write for him.  

And every time I hear his name,  
my heart tightens
like someone’s squeezing it  
until I can’t breathe,  
like he’s stolen my reason,  
like I can’t think,  
can’t be  
without him.

I’m not okay,  
but to say it aloud would tear threads from my skin,  
unravel the mask, let the ache sink in.  
If I admit it, if I say I need you  
I’m left bare, raw, my secrets through,  
exposed and hollow where you belong,  
the empty echo of an unsung song.

I crave you like breath, like life, like a fire,  
a fever beneath, a buried desire.  
I ache for the weight of your unspoken stare,  
the way your eyes linger, hold me there  
they press, they pull, they know me whole,  
seeing the ache I can’t control.

If I could just feel you, your warmth, your touch,  
the quiet promise I crave too much  
maybe I’d be real, maybe I’d be whole,  
instead of this silent, untethered soul.  
But this love, it hangs unsaid, unshown,  
tightens around my heart like stone,  
a need that claws at my bones, my core,  
a hunger that grows yet remains ignored.

Because if I say it, I love you
I can’t take it back, I can’t undo.  
It’s not a whim, nor fleeting lie  
it’s a truth I keep but can’t deny.  
So I hold it close, let silence claim,  
this raw, desperate love without a name,  
a whisper hidden, a longing deep,  
a love I nurture, alone, in sleep.

When we stood close, it felt like something  
a spark drawn out between shared laughs,  
a touch too slow to let go.  
I saw the way his gaze held,  
like a quiet promise,  
hanging warm in the air, waiting.

But now he’s vanished from my days,  
a light turned off without a word.  
No messages, no calls,  
just a silence thick with everything  
he left behind,  
a ghost where the warmth had been.

Was it real?  
Or did I dream us into life?  
Maybe he was only ever passing through.  
But here I am, holding the memory close,  
hoping that one day, maybe,  
he remembers to look back, too.

I bet you taste like hot chocolate  
warm, rich, irresistible,  
drawing me closer,  
pulling me in with every breath.  

Let me taste you,  
not in haste,  
but slow and deliberate,  
letting the sweetness bloom  
softly across my tongue.  

Your warmth spills into me,  
a quiet fire melting every edge,  
each moment lingering  
like a whisper against my lips.  

I want you  
not in halves, not in shadows  
but fully, deeply, completely,  
until nothing remains  
but this sweet, endless heat.

To be loved by a poet  
is to know they see your scars
the parts of you that remain hidden,  
yet still, they choose to stay.

To love  
is to give your heart fully,  
knowing it will break  
and still hoping it will heal.

To cry  
is to drown in the ache,  
caught in the loop of love and loss,  
where tears never truly end.

To go  
is to carry the pain,  
leaving behind what can’t remain,  
but always feeling it in the silence.

To live  
is to rise,  
only to fall again,  
trapped in the cycle of wanting  
what you can’t have.

And to love again  
is to open your heart,  
raw and unguarded,  
because love
it pulls you back  
every time.

Maybe in another universe,  
I could see him loving me.  
In a world where the stars align,  
Where we’re exactly what we’re meant to be.  

But the truth is,  
we only have this one.  
And in this world,  
he loves someone else,  
and I’m left with the weight of what’s undone.  

Maybe in another life,  
things could be different,  
but here and now,  
it’s just me and the silence,  
wondering what could have been.

This time,  
my poems aren’t about you,  
but about me.  

Tonight,  
I’m showing my scars,  
showing the pain,  
writing the words I can’t say aloud.  

The old me would’ve been on the floor,  
crying,  
begging God to take her away.  
I still do,  
and I don’t think that’ll ever stop.  

But the new me writes about it.  
Not fully  
but she’s trying to be real,  
at least with herself.  

Not with her friends though,  
she doesn’t want to lose them.  
So maybe I didn’t change after all,  
but I’m trying.  

But nothing really changes,  
except my age,  
and my friends.  
Everything around me changes for the better,  
while I stand here,  
frozen in time,  
unable to move.  

But maybe that’s for the better.

Was it casual when I showed you my poem?  
It was not.  
Not many get to see that part of me,  
The part I keep hidden,  
Buried deep.  

Writing those poems only makes me love you more,  
Each word a quiet confession,  
Each line a reminder
This love is not like the others.  
I’ve never felt this way before.  

The day I tell you my feelings,  
The day you tell me you don’t feel the same  
That day will be the end of me.  

Three years I’ve loved you.  
Three years of silence,  
And yet not speaking to you  
Has never stopped me from thinking of you.  

I won’t tell you I love you.  
Not yet.  
Hoping my feelings might change,  
Hoping yours might too.  

But I’m not ready to hear those words  
“I don’t love you.”  
I already know you don’t,  
But until you say it,  
It’s not my reality.  

So I will wait for you.

You sit on your bed,  
eyes tracing the night,  
the moon’s quiet glow,  
the stars burning bright.  

And then, there it is
a flash in the dark,  
a fleeting moment,  
a shattered spark.  

You close your eyes,  
make your secret wish  
a silent dream,  
a stolen kiss.  

But it’s already gone,  
the light burned out,  
the echo fading,  
faint and drowned.  

Your dream stumbles,  
lost in the haze,  
but you still hold it,  
you still feel its blaze.  

For even a wish,  
long spent and dead,  
lingers quietly,  
in the space you’ve bled.  

I’m not wishing for a star,  
and I’m not wishing for you  
I’m wishing for a love  
that could have been true.

I feel foolish,  
Foolish to think you liked me.  
Your eyes told me a story,  
But your words sang a different tune.  

Lost in what I thought was mine,  
A love I conjured in my mind?  
This cannot be true
Did I misread all the signs?  

I longed for you,  
For far too long.  
And now, with distance between us,  
Your arms will never feel the same.  

But if I could touch you one last time,  
Feel your warmth again,  
That fleeting moment,  
Would be all I’d ask for.

My biggest fear?  
Not being able to find love,  
because I’m too hard to love.  

Maybe it’s because I’m ugly,  
maybe because I’m not funny,  
maybe I’m just a horrible person,  
because I don’t love myself enough.  

I wonder if that’s the reason,  
if that’s why no one stays.  
Maybe I’m just too much,  
or not enough in all the ways.  

But maybe, deep down,  
I’m just waiting for someone  
to show me I’m worth loving  
even when I can’t show it to myself.

This might be my last poem,  
or the last of me,  
I haven’t told anyone yet,  
but I’ve lost hope, in you,  
in us,  
in what we could’ve been.  

I want to cry.  
I am crying,  
tears soaking the screen  
where I text you again,  
knowing you won’t reply.  

If only I had known  
from the start,  
I would’ve run,  
far and fast,  
but even that’s a lie.  

Because even when the universe screamed,  
"Stop! They don’t love you,"  
I silenced it.  
I rewrote its whispers,  
forcing the stars to spell,  
"They do."  

And now I’m sick,  
sick of this love  
that churns my stomach,  
a sickness that clings,  
making me want to throw it all up.  

This love is a poison,  
an ache that blooms in my chest.  
It’s killing me softly,  
with every beat of a heart  
that still beats for you.

Sixteen, a sound I’ve always loved,  
A number rare, not often thought of.  
It whispers Lebanon in its quiet glow,  
A place, a feeling, only I know.  

You said it was odd, how odd, indeed,  
That made it more beautiful, unique to me.  
Not many love it, and that’s why I do,  
Sixteen felt mine, until it led me to you.  

On the field, you wore it, jersey so bright,  
Sixteen on your back, catching my sight.  
Was it a sign, a whisper from the sky?  
Telling me to love you, to not question why?  

But you don’t seem to see how much I care,  
Or maybe you do, but love isn’t there.  
Our worlds are apart, like earth and moon,  
Yet sixteen binds us, a secret tune.  

Was it chance or fate? I’ll never be sure,  
But loving you feels both odd and pure.

You looked through me,  
and in that moment, nothing else mattered.  
You stood there, looking,  
as if there was something only you could see,  
something hidden even from me.

The way you smiled, the way I laughed  
it felt like a story we shared,  
like a hand reaching out in the dark.  
I thought maybe, just maybe,  
there was something there.

But now, only silence answers,  
days pass, and there’s nothing from you.  
Did I really feel something that night,  
or was it just the need to believe,  
to hold onto the warmth of your arms,  
to imagine your eyes told a story  
that was only ever mine?

Tell me that you’re gay,  
and that you wish you could love me,  
but you just can’t  
because I’m not the one you need.  

Tell me how painful it is,  
how every moment with me  
feels like a distant dream  
you can’t reach.  

Tell me you feel it,  
but it’s not enough to change  
what’s inside of you  
that ache in your chest  
that you can’t make go away.  

Tell me that you want to love me,  
but you can’t,  
because you’re gay
and it hurts,  
more than I’ll ever know.  

and I’ll take that,
because it’s the only reason
I’ll accept from you for not being able to like me.

When he was here, it felt like something real  
the way his eyes lingered,  
the unspoken words we wore like secrets,  
a laugh, a look, a touch just long enough  
to make me think I was seen.

But now he’s faded, a ghost of what he seemed,  
a light snuffed out, no explanation,  
just an empty space where his warmth used to be.  
No calls, no signs, no trace he remembers,  
only the ache of what he left behind.

Did I imagine it?  
Was he only passing through?  
Or did he mean it, too once?  
I hold the memory close,  
a spark I can’t let go,  
listening to the silence he left like an echo.

Some hearts love, while others turn away,  
And here we are, stranded, worlds apart.  
I’m bound by a love that I can’t betray,  
While you stand untouched, guarding your heart.  

I want your love like breath, like light,  
An ache that words can’t ever fill  
A silent prayer whispered to the night,  
Hoping you’ll feel it, hoping you will.  

I burn for the warmth of something true,  
Yet I’m terrified to break the spell.  
Afraid that asking will push you through  
A door you’ll close, a truth I can’t tell.  

So I keep my distance, my longing concealed,  
Cradling a fire that scorches alone.  
In quiet agony, my fate is sealed,  
Loving in silence, loving unknown.  

I wish you’d see beyond my restraint,  
Feel my love without needing words.  
But here I stand, half-hope, half-faint,  
In a solitude no one’s ever heard.

I’m angry at myself for loving you still,  
For clinging to dreams against my will.  
I wish I could turn, let my heart walk away,  
But you hold me here in this endless sway.  

I’m losing myself with each longing glance,  
Caught in a web of a hopeless romance.  
I try to forget, but you’re etched in my soul,  
Taking pieces of me you’ll never know.  

I’m mad at my heart for refusing to learn,  
For the way it aches, for the way it burns.  
Lost in the shadows, chasing your light,  
Even as you fade further from sight.  

I want to break free, to reclaim what’s mine,  
But you linger like whispers that blur the line
Between love and pain, hope and despair,  
In this maze you’ve made, I’m trapped in the air.

Every time my phone hums,  
my pulse skips  
is it you?  
I check, hoping,  
needing your name to glow back at me.  

But it’s not.  
And the ache deepens.  

I go back to my world,  
halfhearted, distracted,  
my thoughts circling back to you  
always you.  

It’s madness, how many voices fill my day,  
how many words pass me by,  
and yet, none of them matter.  
None of them pull me like you do.  

I crave the sound of you  
the way you make my world pause,  
the way even a single word from you  
feels like a touch  
I’ve been waiting for all day.  

Until it’s you,  
I’ll keep waiting,  
breathless, aching,  
lost in the wanting.

Four months, 27 days ago,  
I said I'd stop.  
I lied.  

The blade came back,  
old friend,  
old habit,  
old scars splitting open like  
they never left.  

The dark thoughts knock,  
but this time,  
they're coming in  
and I won’t show them the door.  

I’ll print my poems,  
every line about you,  
make a book,  
hand it to her,  
say, “Publish this. Give it to them.  
They should know what they meant.”

On my last day alive,  
I’ll tell you I love you.  
Then I’ll go home,  
write my final poem,  
leave it on my bed,  
and climb up,  
one last smoke on the roof,  
post a picture,  
and jump.

Every time my phone lights up,  
I check  
is it you?  
But it’s not,  
so I sigh,  
go back to what I was doing,  
pretending it doesn’t matter.  

But it does.  

On repeat,  
like a melody I can’t escape,  
I’ll do it again and again  
until it is you.  

Crazy, isn’t it?  
So many voices call my name,  
yet none of them spark that thrill
none of them light up my day  
the way you do  
with just a message.

You settle under my skin,
not as a whisper, but a flame
searing, raw, alive.
Every thought of you is a hand
dragging down my spine,
every memory, a pulse
between my ribs.

You’re the ache I welcome,
the slow burn that spreads,
fingers tracing paths
only you dare to mark.
I am undone by the weight of wanting,
the way your name blooms in my mouth,
a prayer and a sin all at once.

I crave the way your touch
would write itself on me,
each graze a promise,
each press a claim.
You, pulling me apart
me, surrendering,
willing to be broken
just to feel whole in your hands.

No storm can match this hunger,
no quiet could tame it.
Let it take me.
Let me drown in the heat of you.

Fingers trace paths only you dare to mark,

Every thought of you ignites the spark.

My body trembles, begging to be undone,

In your hands,
I know I’ll come undone.

You settle under my skin,

not as a whisper,but a flame
searing, raw, alive.

Every memory, a pulse

between my ribs.

You’re the ache I welcome,

the slow burn that spreads.

I am undone by the weight of wanting,

the way your name blooms in my mouth,

a prayer and a sin all at once.

No storm can match this hunger,

no quiet could tame it.

Let it take me.

Let me drown in the heat of you.

I’m giving you until December 31st,  
to make me change my mind,  
but I won’t tell you.  

For now, I’ll talk to you,  
write about you,  
think about you endlessly,  
and tell my boy best friend all about you.  

Until December 31st,  
I’ll hope your feelings might shift,  
that maybe, just maybe,  
you’ll love me,  
and tell me you do.  

Because five minutes before midnight,  
I’ll send you this poem,  
and I’ll wait for your answer.  

If you don’t feel the same,  
I’ll delete your Snap,  
your Insta,  
the Halloween post,  
and every poem I’ve ever written about you.  

I’ll try to forget,  
but I know I won’t.  

Three years ago,  
we spoke once,  
just a bit,  
and I’ve loved you since.  

We didn’t talk after the game,  
but we met again,  
at that Halloween party.  

I knew you’d be there.  
I made sure I looked pretty,  
hoping you’d notice,  
hoping it would make you like me.  

I don’t think it did,  
even if your eyes  
told a different story.  

I’ll never forget the night you told me  
you didn’t like anyone.  
I’ll never forget it,  
because that was the first time  
I showed someone a poem.  

I’d posted my words on stories,  
but never sent one so raw,  
so personal,  
to someone.  

But I showed it to you,  
because it was about you,  
because with you,  
it felt true.

« A maze, you get lost.  
A labyrinth, you find yourself. »
But this love I feel  
only pulls me further away.  

The more I try to explore it,  
the more it unravels me.  
Every path I take  
leads deeper into the unknown,  
a place where even my shadow  
doesn’t feel like home.  

I search for meaning,  
for the way back to clarity,  
but all I find is more of you,  
and less of me.  

This love,  
a labyrinth with no center,  
no end,  
just endless turns  
where I lose myself again and again.

I'm scared someone will finally see the sad girl I am.  
I'm scared they'll realize the smile I wear every day is fake,  
like everyone else around me.  
I'm scared they'll look down,  
see my arms  
those arms didn’t ******* deserve these scars.  

I'm scared they'll hate the girl I really am,  
happy one second,  
broken as hell the next.  
I'm scared they'll see me whole  
or what's left of me,  
the parts I didn’t cut away.  

Maybe I’m just not meant to be close to people.  
But I hope one day I’ll find someone,  
someone who’ll see these scars  
and not ******* judge me.  
I don’t need them to understand the pain,  
the kind of pain that made me do this.  
I just need them to be there,  
standing beside me,  
promising me it’s gonna be alright  
even if it’s not.  
Even if it never will.

These poems I write
they're pieces of me,  
maybe the only real me.  

You read them  
without my knowing,  
stripped my intimacy bare.  

I showed you what I chose,  
but you wanted more,  
took more.  

Now I stand here,  
naked,  
exposed.

Am I ugly?  
I ask the mirror,  
but its silence cuts deeper  
than any blade ever could.  

Other guys say I’m pretty  
soft smiles, lingering stares,  
but his eyes  
are the only ones  
I care to meet.  

Why doesn’t he see me?  
Why doesn’t he want me?  
Is it my face?  
My laugh?  
The way I look away  
when he catches me staring?  

He doesn’t love me,  
but I can’t stop loving him.  
His name is a ghost  
haunting my thoughts,  
a shadow following me  
everywhere.  

Maybe I’m not ugly,  
but to him,  
I’m invisible.  
And somehow,  
that hurts more.

Maybe drunk words are better than sober thoughts.  
When I write, and the words just ******* won’t come,  
fear holds them back  
fear of being real, of showing what’s really inside.  

I drink, and drink,  
alone in my room,  
no friends to share the glass with,  
no one to talk to.  

So I write my poems,  
pour my soul into these lines,  
and post them here,  
hoping someone will listen,  
hoping the silence won’t feel so ******* loud.  

Maybe someone will hear,  
maybe I won’t feel so ******* alone.

My love for you is deep, it’s real,  
I long to show you how I feel.  
If our lips met, would you then see  
The tears this love has drawn from me?  

This burning passion, all this time,  
Was just for you, it feels like crime.  
For you, it meant so close to none,  
While I thought we had just begun.  

If you like me, don’t make me wait,  
I’m trapped between this love and fate.  
My heart’s on fire, my soul’s consumed,  
Each thought of you has left me doomed.  

I try to stop, but it’s no use,  
Each step I take just finds excuse.  
To think of you, to dream anew,  
For all I want is only you.

He used to look at me,  
eyes meeting mine like secret words,  
quietly folding over our small world.  
A laugh, a smile,  
a glance that lingered just a little longer,  
like we were caught in a whispered story.

But now there’s nothing.  
Days pass like a dimming pulse.  
No messages, no mentions,  
just the cold echo of everything left unsaid.  
The warmth once here has slipped away,  
like it never even happened,  
a memory erased before it had the chance to stay.

I wonder if I imagined it,  
if the closeness was just a flicker in the dark.  
He’s here and gone, like a fading spark.  
And though I wish it would light again,  
I wait in silence, shadows,  
just the ache of where he’d been.

Funny how love and your name both have four,  
I don’t like love, but with you, I want more.  
Hearing your name makes it feel real,  
Makes me crave something I don’t want to feel.  

I long to feel you, your warmth, your skin,  
The way you pull me in, where do I begin?  
I don’t want just texts, I want you whole,  
But I know you don’t care, you don’t feel my soul.  

Maybe if I was thinner, prettier, a little more bright,  
Would you see me then? Would you see me right?  
What’s wrong with me? What do they have that I lack?  
I give and give, but I’m always turning back.  

I love you, but you don’t even see,  
How can you be blind when it’s so clear to me?  
Am I a fool for loving you, for wanting this touch?  
Or are you playing games, knowing I care too much?  

I love you, I hate you, all at once in my chest,  
I hate myself more for putting this to the test.  
I try so hard, but you don’t even try,  
And I’m left here waiting, asking myself why.

My eyes running from your stare,  
a weight too sharp to bear.  
they told you what i couldn’t say,  
and still, I seem so far away.  

your deep brown eyes pull me inside,  
a place where thoughts and silence collide.  
i want to dive, to drift, to be free,  
to lose myself in the depths of your sea.  

those thoughts you hide, unspoken, untold,  
turn into stares, silent but bold.  
your eyes tell a story, a tale to uncover,  
a book i long to read and discover.  

and still, i fear  
the curve of your voice,  
the reach of your hand,  
the next move that will break  
this fragile stillness.  

when will i see you?  
when will i stand still  
and let myself be seen?

Knefe,
sweet, warm, impossible to forget.

My favorite Lebanese dessert,

and somehow, your nickname, too.

Though you don’t know it
yet.

I feel foolish for liking you this much,

but every thought of you brings a smile,

even through the tears that streak my face.

You cross my mind, and the world fades,

your name louder than any silence.

I long for you

your voice, your gaze, your impossible closeness.

But I know.
I know you don’t feel the same.

I shouldn’t talk to you.

I shouldn’t dream of you.

And yet, I still try.

Try, because sometimes it feels effortless,

and other times it’s a weight I can barely carry.

But isn’t that what love is?

The sweet and the bitter,

the crazy pull toward someone

who has no idea the power they hold.

You’ve consumed me whole,

made me wild,

made me crazy

crazy for you.

I cried today,  
in front of my mom.  
The tears fell, soft and heavy,  
after weeks of silence,  
after months of holding on.  

I’m still crying now,  
each drop a whisper  
of something I can’t name.  

Maybe tomorrow,  
I’ll cry into my friend’s arms,  
or maybe I won’t.  
Maybe I’ll laugh it off  
while the ache lingers inside.  

Why the tears?  
I wish I knew.  
Maybe it’s everything I’ve buried,  
or maybe it’s nothing at all.  
But they’re here,  
and they keep falling.

There’s a hunger in me that whispers your name,  
It’s hard to resist you, harder still to stay,  
An ache that grows each time you look away.  
I reach for you, but you drift like smoke,  
A dream I hold to but never evoke.  

Every day, I tell myself to let go,  
Yet in the silence, your presence grows.
Your silence echoes, cold and clear,  
The world feels like it’s tied to you  
Every sound, every scent, every view.  

I want to turn away, find peace, be free,  
But you’ve become a part of me.  
My heart, unruly, beats in tune  
With a love that’s bound to fall too soon.  

Invisible in your line of sight,  
Yet drawn to you with all my might.  
To love you feels like chasing air  
Impossible, yet I’m always there.  
Yet still, I burn with your unspoken name.

I fell for your charms,  
for the way you spoke without words,  
for the way your presence lingered  
long after you'd left the room.  
You can resist beauty,  
but never charms like yours.

In your eyes,  
I saw something I wish I hadn’t  
a fire, a hunger,  
a desire that pulled me deeper,  
and now, I crave what I can't have.

The love I feel now  
it’s all that remains,  
but you're no longer here.  
You left, without a trace,  
and I'm left with only the memory of your warmth.

I wait.  
I wait for you to come back,  
for you to realize that I love you  
the way I’ve always loved you  
quietly, steadily,  
like a song you don’t hear  
but can never forget.

I’m ready to love you again,  
but if you are not,  
I’ll wait, just as I’ve waited  
for three long years  
for you to return.  
Because no matter how long it takes,  
I’ll wait for you  
for as long as I need to.

If you asked me what I like about you,  
I’d say something simple, like, “your humor.“

Because saying,  
“I love how deep and emotional your eyes are,  
how they pull me in,  
make me want to uncover the depths of your thoughts,  
the words you’re too afraid to speak,”  
would be too much, wouldn’t it?  

Or admitting,  
“I love your lips,  
how every word they form  
makes me imagine their touch,  
the way they’d feel  
tracing paths across my skin,”  
wouldn’t that be even stranger?  

So instead,  
I settle for “your humor,”  
because it’s safer  
than confessing the truth.

You looked through me,  
like there was something you saw,  
just ours, something alive in the spaces between.  
A soft spark, a language in glances,  
the way your smile felt like a hand to hold.

But now it's silence, sharp and sure.  
Days pass, but there's nothing from you  
just the cold weight of words unsaid.  
Not a call, not a trace, not a flicker,  
like you vanished with all that warmth.

Did I misread it all?  
Was it a story I made alone?  
Or did you simply forget  
to hold onto something small and real?  
Here I am, still feeling you there,  
a quiet that only I hear.