I keep asking the stars—
why give me a heart
so fluent in love,
yet no one who understands the language?

I pour oceans into people
who don’t even bring a cup,
craving a reflection
that’s always walking away.

The universe made me
desperate,
tender,
wide open—
then placed me in a world
of half-hearts and dead ends.

I dream of being chosen
the way I choose,
seen the way I stare
into souls
like it’s scripture.

But I’m stuck—
in limerence,
in longing,
in the kind of hope
that keeps whispering
“maybe next time”
until eternity fades
and I’m still waiting
for love
that mirrors mine.