I wished to practice the art of writing, to you, I tried but perhaps you got used to it, it wasn't so arty though, but you were that mini piece of passion every artist needed to survive the death of their as well mini piece of talent. Love is a seed, you plant it well and it'll grow to feed unconditionally. And I know I wasn't even aware that this body I belong to was the land for your seeds not until your seeds were almost dry. I am moved by the letters of love and respect I collect in my dusted tiny library, which I collected in the first place to read them for you, I am moved by the overwhelming amount of love our nation, our materialistic disgusting souls could carry. How did we all end up growing half dead? desperate for love and attention ? I, from the bottom of my heart love you, or at least have loved and still love the forms of love you have carefully planted in me. I'll take care of it. I promise you, although promises are **** to you, I promise, I'll take care of it.

Remember when I told you
Even when we didn't talk
I dream of you
And in those dreams
We are always hugging
Always
There was no talking
Nothing, but us hugging silently

This morning
I saw you again
But this time
I wasn't trying to reach for you
Like I always did in those dreams
I was just sitting there
And you were just sitting there
Until there were so many people
You said:
"We've been doing this for almost a year now"
I look at you
I say yes
You say "Why?"
I say "I don't know"
You adjust your posture
You look at me
And you put your phone
In the middle of us
And press Record
And that's when I woke up.

you know what, I am not doing this.

How am I supposed to make poetry out of you?