Fall in love with a writer
they say and you will never die (quoted)

Fall in love with a writer
they say and you will find yourself
embodied in words

Fall in love with a writer
they say and you will find yourself
stretched over lines and pages

Now,

What if a writer falls in love with you?
What happens is that their untamed mind
becomes an asylum where
words smash themselves
on the walls of their brains
summoning
their hands just
to let them out

What if a writer falls in love with you?
What happens is that their addiction
to falling in love is amplified
and when they love
OH THEY LOVE,
they get a certain high
that numbs their inhibitions to reality
and shuns logic to a very far away land

they  reach a mental state
that lifts you to high enough
just to see a glimpse of their world
just to taste a drop of their
potion
but not all of it

What if a writer falls in love with you?
What happens is that their eye *****
birth and harness flames that burn the coldest
of hearts and warm the strongest
of selves

What if a writer falls in love with you?
What happens is that their mind soaks up
every bit, every breath
every call, every cell
every touch, every talk
just to embroider it
in the quilt of thought
that's weaving endless stories about you
in their mind

What if a writer falls in love with you?
God have mercy on their soul
for their craving becomes dangerously
intensified, wrapping itself
to their muses,
giving them the sole purpose
of existing

For the more they love
the more stories they write
and more they feel
the longer
they
live

Acceptance attempted, failed
Although alone, I knew to be
Yearned for you more, had I knowing our differences
Another had I expected not to enter
The tips of your fingers, denies my plummet no more.

Even through error, had my mind never grasped the thought
Admission was to end my fall; our friendship was to be replenished
Gradually more was to flourish
My hopes soared , cut to its roots
You were not waiting - it was I, who felt.

Findings so clear, I wish it was false
You spoke to another, casually yet with precision
What was articulated, could not be unheard
My cards had I released, knowing the joy was foregone
Tears restrained, knowing a depart was imminent.

In my wake, do I doubt the reality
A sombre night, a sombre morning
My imperfections existed, even through facades
Your presence, polished the blemishes
The depths of the marks, now a hole.

Another effort, my prayers had sought
Your response was seen, reciprocal this could be
Time had I assumed it in wait, for me to rekindle
Your moving on, delivering my faith's corpse
My pursuit curtailed; continuation in vain.

Tears unshed before, fall now
The distance ahead, shrunk to an end
Memories are spared for us to keep
Time continues, even at our standstill
Years spent, succumb to a day.

Our last paper, joying our spirits
Together we wrote; each his own
The moment a speciality, faded into seriousness
A room filled with relief, not ready to relieve
The future is bound, the past is profound.

Walking away from the building, once detested
A struggled step, not a leap
No matter our differences, our commonness are intertwined
The regrets we have, are that of knowing
The base we had, cherished more considering the unknown.

Friends that motivated our wake, promise to stay
Lightly are their words taken, the truth we have seen
Gratitude owed, to all those who held us up
Chapters written, a glory unmatched
As our grasps meet once more, finality taints the romance.

Life begins again, with responsibilities anew
The crossroads met, our respective pursuits acknowledged
A farewell granting us solace, to a well-traveled journey
Love found, lost to a depart
Our childhood glides away; independence, comes to stay.

A return to reality, inevitable
The momentary glee, forgotten
Dried ink, taunting my soul
My will lost, to an empty cause
An escape; an imprisonment.

At a time of worst, a savior had come
Not superficial, for the pieces were vital
Preventing my veins from constricting
Providing a hope, stolen by life
Understanding was written; confusion concealed.

Critical acclaim, had I garnered none
My commitment was to deny sorrow
The darkness within, had I shone out
A fake smile, affording truth
A heart that had beat only to maintain, relishing continuity.

Paths forward inspired, a future brightened
The hurt to myself, released to its time
Regrets buried, under words of grace
The phenomenon of forgiveness, steadier
An addict's reprieve, offered through lines.

Reading a sore nostalgia, rejuvenating wounds
The person I have become, an enigma to myself
Some days compassionate, others cold
Some brilliant, others infantile
Pride I cannot conceive, but poetry does relieve.

The dots do I join, to rediscover
That which was forgotten, remembered through continuation
Naivety had my youth shown plenty
Lines of love, professed lies
My aspirations stemmed, by a being not noticing.

Time has it stopped not for my admiration
Its progression I cannot prevent
But my mind's reversion, has already occurred
That which had been lived, is lived again
Her entrance I appreciate once more; the essence unfound.

Events are offered no change, by memories
Questions unthought than, asked now
The height of my feelings, a hyperbole
A chance doomed by an evasive reality
Her beauty existent; I chose a figment.

Each confidant, hearing more passion than the last
If doubts were raised, my words were shown
A destiny I sought, with a name with no letters
My stare, affording no return glance
Her interactions echoing no friendship; my ignorance deflated.

A work I had begun ardently, not knowing
My return home , a return to future synonymy
Pages torn, to drown in cliches
Her rejection, could not disconcert
The dots I made, do I join to know.

Wake of day; the birth of unease
My ink's drought, a fear at worst
The sound of a heartbeat, persisting
A passion wounded; salvaged by praise.
Structure is found, a thought is lost
Difficulty admitted, my body numbed
The end may be now; writer's block is desired
Forgetting lines, forgetting life.
Hindrances to my growth, never not present
If not my memory, than monotony
The drive I have, denied a forward
Decisions to quit, hollowed by comments.
Afraid I may be, but friends have I still
Complimenting my lines; complementing my incomplete stanzas.

Your art, my eyes fascinate over
The detail so plenty, my focus, undecided
An inspiration for it, I fail to find
An inspirer, has it become.
My first glance taken, intrigue built
Paint or pastel; bewildered I am left
Art at its finest, I concede
Your marks, deceptive of your youth.
Commend you do I, to soon for your efforts
Your work incomplete, told; unnoticed
My eyes revert to its previous indulgence
Beauty defined, seen; an artists' mind exceeding the viewers.
Repetition a joy, not a task
An admirer I have become, awaiting the last stroke.