An unprecedented night with friends.
We were talking about the moon and the stars,
figuring out the constellations
that we were too young for,
and for some reason, love,
we were talking about you instead.
She declared that you've permanently lost
your dear lady, that I personally could not
do without. For some other reason, darling,
I was in awe of your beauty.
However, you were encompassed
in an aura of self-confidence,
and I couldn't believe you all along.
That smile never left your visage,
so I was left wondering how you do it,
making it seem like you've reached salvation easily.
This tear-stained paper I'm writing on
is my heart breaking into pieces for you.
You will always have my condolence,
my skinny love, and my worthwhile silence.
Never have I imagined being distraught this much,
for I am in a state of self-loathing,
despising how I didn't try harder to be
in your company.
To confront you,
and to endlessly love you.
But I'm sorry I never got the chance
to tell you how beautiful of a soul you are.
Maybe someday when you're truly jubilant,
with no fake smiles and no dry tears,
you'd read this poem and perhaps,
you may think of the girl who
let you borrow her pen
but left it with you on purpose
so she'd have a chance of talking to you again,
only to find out that you never gave it back.
Love, it's okay now because I have a wider scope of things,
and you may have been too occupied shedding tears for her
to pay some attention to my green ballpoint pen.
I forgive you.
And I hope you forgave me when I lied to you and smiled,
because in reality,
we are all sad souls with fleeting moments of happiness,
endeavoring to reach solitude,
with neither of us saying what we really mean.
And I guess nobody ever does.