Hey,
You remember?
'Home of Heart', the piece I dropped—
The next part is yet to come–I promised
Well, Not the one written by me,
But by my fate, universe and time
Wondering, what it would actually meant to be?
I called you my Twilight once,
because you were neither mine nor a stranger,
just a soft moment that made my heart believe in colours I glanced,
Never ever .
I was your imperfect perfectionist —
building equations out of emotions,How strange it is?
Searching for real answers in imaginary roots,
Trying to solve a feeling,
as if love was a chapter in algebra book.
Maybe some stories are meant to written.
Maybe some connections exist only to teach us.
Maybe some boys arrive not as destinies,
but as constellations —
Just to be stared at,
not to be reached.
The day i realised—
When universe whispered truths—
I refused to hear.
Not every spark becomes a fire.
Not every wish becomes a home.
Not every heart becomes your destination
just because it made you feel alive some.
And now, this imperfect heart of mine
No longer searches for you in the crowd.
It no longer prays for miracles
that were never meant to be mine.
It just simply wishpers…
"To lets you go."
This chapter ends softly,
not with a cry,
but with a calm:
“It was beautiful.
It wasn’t mine.
And that’s okay.”
Because maybe,
Imaginary roots weren’t meant to be real…
they just need Imaginary home for my Imperfect heart.
Dec 7, 2025
Dec 7, 2025 at 2:28 PM UTC
Hey,
You remember?
'Home of Heart', the piece I dropped—
The next part is yet to come–I promised
Well, Not the one written by me,
But by my fate, universe and time
Wondering, what it would actually meant to be?
I called you my Twilight once,
because you were neither mine nor a stranger,
just a soft moment that made my heart believe in colours I glanced,
Never ever .
I was your imperfect perfectionist —
building equations out of emotions,How strange it is?
Searching for real answers in imaginary roots,
Trying to solve a feeling,
as if love was a chapter in algebra book.
Maybe some stories are meant to written.
Maybe some connections exist only to teach us.
Maybe some boys arrive not as destinies,
but as constellations —
Just to be stared at,
not to be reached.
The day i realised—
When universe whispered truths—
I refused to hear.
Not every spark becomes a fire.
Not every wish becomes a home.
Not every heart becomes your destination
just because it made you feel alive some.
And now, this imperfect heart of mine
No longer searches for you in the crowd.
It no longer prays for miracles
that were never meant to be mine.
It just simply wishpers…
"To lets you go."
This chapter ends softly,
not with a cry,
but with a calm:
“It was beautiful.
It wasn’t mine.
And that’s okay.”
Because maybe,
Imaginary roots weren’t meant to be real…
they just need Imaginary home for my Imperfect heart.
Hmm... The poem i wrote ages before.. 'Home of Heart: part1'... I wrote specifically that the next part will be dedicated by my destiny, by my fate... What it would wish for me and the Twilight... And after a lot waiting, realising.. yup, the piece is finally here... Sadly it ended even if before it was actually started.. but yup, i guess.. accepting is far better than living in a obsessive hope...
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