I did not want to write.

Maybe because I didn’t know
If it were right for me
To ache with such feelings:
To feel the abandonment of,
And feel the longing for
The arms that always seemed to be there to catch me,
But never there to hold me for long.
To hear the voice
That had always calmed my raging thoughts.
But never in those moments
Have I ever heard it with my own ears.

I did not want to write.

Maybe because I didn’t know
If I even deserved
To feel this sad, and so alone
When all I’ve never done
Was to make you feel the opposite
Of what I’m feeling right now.
To feel like I have lost
A love
That I never even gave a chance to begin with.

I did not want to write.**

But I guess,
There’s nothing else I could do
To hoard and keep-
Or maybe to squander and let go
Of the suffering
That may not even be love
But just a blind infatuation.