Maybe one day I’ll be yearned for. I have designated countless hours of my life wishing on shooting stars for love from people who did not know how to cherish my own. I have been informed over and over again that people won’t understand the way that I love. Not everyone preserves their heart in ice like I do, so they do not know how to give my love back to me. Over time, I defrosted, started spilling my love in front of mirrors, my reflection both the sender and recipient of my broken letters.
Maybe for once, I would like to be the girl you dream about. The first person you think of when it hits 11:11. I want to be on the receiving end of smiles from pretty girls; I long to be the one to make sweet boys laugh.
But I’m writing poems about strangers. My heart has been rejected too many times to take chances. I have come to terms that maybe I’m meant to give out more love than I will receive in this lifetime.
For once, maybe I would like to be loved, not just liked. Not just cute or **** not just a fling or a fleeting moment and another notch on someone’s bedpost. I want someone to think of me in the same way I think of them. I want someone to look at me and see a spark, a possibility, a future that’s worth building for. I would like to be on the receiving end of goodnight texts, sent way after I’ve fallen asleep, so that when the sun rises, I know I’m the first thought on your mind even when I’m not present. Maybe someday I’ll be the girl you picture in love songs or poems like this. But for now, I’ll keep writing poems I’ll never send; typos will never hurt as much as loving someone who doesn’t love you back.
5d ago
May 29, 2026 at 2:14 PM UTC
Maybe one day I’ll be yearned for. I have designated countless hours of my life wishing on shooting stars for love from people who did not know how to cherish my own. I have been informed over and over again that people won’t understand the way that I love. Not everyone preserves their heart in ice like I do, so they do not know how to give my love back to me. Over time, I defrosted, started spilling my love in front of mirrors, my reflection both the sender and recipient of my broken letters.
Maybe for once, I would like to be the girl you dream about. The first person you think of when it hits 11:11. I want to be on the receiving end of smiles from pretty girls; I long to be the one to make sweet boys laugh.
But I’m writing poems about strangers. My heart has been rejected too many times to take chances. I have come to terms that maybe I’m meant to give out more love than I will receive in this lifetime.
For once, maybe I would like to be loved, not just liked. Not just cute or **** not just a fling or a fleeting moment and another notch on someone’s bedpost. I want someone to think of me in the same way I think of them. I want someone to look at me and see a spark, a possibility, a future that’s worth building for. I would like to be on the receiving end of goodnight texts, sent way after I’ve fallen asleep, so that when the sun rises, I know I’m the first thought on your mind even when I’m not present. Maybe someday I’ll be the girl you picture in love songs or poems like this. But for now, I’ll keep writing poems I’ll never send; typos will never hurt as much as loving someone who doesn’t love you back.
