3 years.
For 3 years,
I've felt you,
Felt your warm welcomes when we met in classes,
And your wondrous stories of helping the masses.
You said you weren't religious nor nice,
But the way you pray others joy says otherwise.
3 years.
3 years spent on memories I keep,
Each one bearing an experience so deep.
It was fine time we gave each other,
As fine as time between spirited brothers.
And each year, we grew closer,
We went through hardships together,
But these 3 years were special,
Tackling the mundane and existential.
Times were either us two working on school work,
Or us two thinking why we work.
Precious indeed are those 3 years,
With everything set in stone,
Yet like all precious jewels,
They fall in the hands of the most cruel of cruels.
We were precious, I bidder,
But from our hands our jewel fell, shattered.
3 years.
3 painful years,
As I watch our smiles turn tears,
And our hearts pierced by spears,
For we chose to shut our ears,
And switched gazes with leers.
I stood frozen badly,
As our story begets tragedy.
Because lady, why tell me,
That after all, we weren't meant to be?
3 years.
3 years, my seed of wrath grew,
In the shape of a tree with no fruit,
And as the bark had wind blew,
I felt bitterness from you, my root.
3 years, right?
For 3 years now, my tree stands upright.
A poem for you whom I thought was meant for me.