at times I wonder,
from an elusive time
and place unreachable
where time no longer exists for me
this one's for the generations after mine
what would they do, as they
come across my poetry
and as they seep into the pages
they will delve into the sadness
of my sweet sorrow letters for thee
will they ever thought the same?
thinking more of our narratives
that should have been—
but was never put into paper
of a love that never came to be
wishing that it became a love story
rather than a story of me
loving thou unrequitedly