They said I was beautiful,
and I smiled—
but secretly wished
it was you who said it.

They brought me flowers,
I opened the card,
heart racing,
hoping to see
your name.

Every time my phone lit up,
I hoped,
And prayed
it was your name.

Even when someone
called me the love of their life,
I only wished
you were the one saying it.

Because no matter who it was—
it’s always
been
you.

My life—
a lie I didn’t know I was living.

Truths left unsaid,
and now I’m drowning
in everything I’ll never know.

I don’t feel real.
I don’t feel mine.

Just a shadow
of someone
I never chose to be.

Do you even care?

Because I don’t understand.
Not friends,
not lovers—
just something in-between,
where I’m always guessing.

You come close,
then disappear,
like I was never enough
to stay for.

I don’t know what we are,
but I know
I’m the only one
hurting.

If I know anything,
it’s that I’ll wait—
silently,
without reaching out,
without calling.

But if you return,
I’ll open my arms
like they were never empty,

and love you
with the kind of heart
that forgets
who broke it.

You’ll never know
how deeply it aches—
knowing you’ll never love me
the way I love you.

To me,
you are the only one.
To you,
I was easy to forget.

I don’t know why
I’m still clinging
to what you let go
so easily.

Why does my heart
keep beating
for someone
who never even looks back?

Why does love
stay burning
for a soul
that never searches for mine?

We’re not just friends,
not really lovers.

We meet in glances,
pause in silence,
exist in a place
no one else understands.

There’s love here—
soft, unfinished,
quietly burning.

But not everything
that feels right
gets to stay.

You shattered me
with hands that never trembled,
then stepped back,
tears in your eyes,
as if you were the one
left bleeding.

How do you ruin a heart
and still cry
like the story
was never yours to blame?