When will the mornings feel different?
When your name doesn’t linger in my first thought,
When the light through the blinds doesn’t whisper your face,
And I rise without the weight of your absence?

When will the nights turn soft with forgetting?
When the pillow cradles only sleep—
Not the ghost of your laughter, your voice in my ear,
Not the echo of all that could never be?

When will the music play untainted,
A melody not stitched with your shadow?
When will I stop wondering if you’d love this song,
If its rhythm might stir something deep in you,
And silence the urge to send it your way?

When will the sight of your favorite team
Be just a score, a game, a fleeting moment—
Not a trigger pulling me back
To the sidelines of my unspoken longing?

When will the world stop speaking your name
In everything, in everyone, in places unknown?
When will my heart stop aching for answers
That it knows will never come?

Maybe the day will come.
Or maybe it never will.

It’s not that I want you gone from my head—
But I want you closer, real, mine.
I love you, I miss you,
And I know I always will.

I think I fall in love too easily,
Maybe that's why people keep leaving me.
I have a whole box of herbal tea,
That I bought after she left me by our favorite tree.

I had forgotten the language of fire,
How words could burn and rise, inspire.
For years, my heart lay cold and still,
A hushed and empty, barren hill.

But then he came, with a quiet spark,
A light in the void, a song in the dark.
His presence a key, unlocking the door,
To parts of myself I’d lost before.

He stirred the ashes, he fanned the flame,
Awakening passions I could not name.
Poems poured forth, creativity bloomed,
A garden of love where shadows loomed.

Not since sixteen had I loved this way,
So fiercely alive, so willing to stay.
He reminded me of what it could be,
To love without fear, to simply be free.

But now he is gone, his light withdrawn,
And the fire he lit flickers at dawn.
My pen grows heavy, my heart turns cold,
As the warmth he gave begins to fold.

He was my muse, my radiant sun,
The source of the art my soul had spun.
Now every verse feels brittle and thin,
A hollow echo of what might have been.

Still, I thank him for the time he gave,
For waking the parts I couldn’t save.
Though the flame may fade, the embers remain,
A whisper of love, a trace of pain.

Before I met him, I lived underwater,
A sea of chaos, a storm to slaughter.
Each breath was a battle, each stroke in vain,
A silent war with an endless pain.

Then he arrived, like light on the tide,
Clarity cutting through where shadows abide.
A life raft extended, his hand to my own,
For the first time, it felt I wasn’t alone.

He was the stillness my storms couldn’t shake,
A mirror of truths I feared to face.
His voice was the anchor I craved to stay,
Yet his gaze lingered elsewhere, a fragile sway.

For she was the current pulling him near,
And I, just the waters he learned to clear.
The day he chose her, the raft pulled away,
And I sank, unmoored, into endless gray.

Now my mind’s a swamp of tangled debris,
The echoes of clarity haunting me.
What once was a beacon now clouds my view,
A love that drowned me, though it felt true.

Yet somewhere beneath this murky despair,
The memory lingers, gasping for air.
One day, perhaps, I’ll rise and float free,
No longer his waters—just wholly me.

He chose her, not me—
the story ends where I am erased.
A triangle now a straight line,
and I’m left wandering the empty angles
of what we once were.

He deleted it all,
every thread, every laugh, every word.
The silence isn’t just loud;
it’s a void.
Now there’s no proof he actually existed,
Without proof, it’s as if I’ve been mourning a mirage,
a shadow of love that never cast light.

I saw this coming all along,
like storm clouds gathering on the horizon.
But hope is a stubborn liar;
It breathed life into dreams I should’ve buried.
And now the sting cuts twice as deep—
first for his choice,
and second for believing he might choose me.

It was foolish of me to think,
when he said, “I’ve been writing something for you,”
that it could be anything but a goodbye.
Still, my heart dared to hope—
that maybe it was love,
a promise, a beginning.
But no, it was an ending
wrapped in words that shattered me.

But what aches deeper
than his absence
is this war within.
My brain, ever the protector,
whispers: forget him, let go.
But I won’t let it win,
no matter how much it begs to shield me.
I know it’s trying to save me
from a pain too sharp to bear,
but I need to survive this
without losing the pieces of him.

Because I don’t want to forget,
not the love I have for him,
not the way he smiled,
not the way his voice felt like home.
Every detail, every fragment—
I’ll carry them all,
even if it breaks me.
The pain keeps him real,
and to lose him completely
would be worse than the ache of loving him alone.

Rereading the scraps,
the echoes of us,
I cling to them like artifacts
of a fleeting world.
They tether me to a past
that my mind tries to bury,
but my heart refuses to lose.

It’s a cruel mechanism,
this erasure of survival,
and I can’t let it win.
I want this pain to stay,
to pulse, to burn,
to be the proof that he existed
and I wasn’t just dreaming
the loss of him.

Abruptly
deep in my gut,
no longer
fluttering butterflies,
the flustered blushing,
rush of blood,
but utter disgust
bubbling up.

Knees buckling,
stuck in its clutches
when it cuts,
ruptures,
unobstructed
it erupts;
gushing upset
to puddles
and like destructions not enough,
still struggling to adjust,
im left
just a husk.

Nerves in flux,
shuddering
from as much as a touch,
thoughts no longer
lustrous luck
but nothing–
dusk.
So what of us?
We rust,
structure
reduced to rubble,
crushed
to dust.

He stands at the crossroads, torn in two,
Between me and time, what is he to do?
I, the spark, the chaos, the flame,
Time, the steady—unwavering, tame.

They were friends first, their bond was light,
Born of comfort, not love’s true might.
She gives him safety, a familiar embrace,
But love isn’t comfort; it’s a deeper space.

I dance in colors, bold and wild,
Time whispers softly, serene and mild.
She moves in circles, unbroken, clear,
I leap through shadows, chasing the near.

Yet I stand faithful, steady, and true,
My love is constant, my promises few.
While she plays games, fleeting and free,
Chasing thrills without loyalty.

She’ll claim she feels, she’ll whisper “it’s real,”
But her actions betray what her words conceal.
For love isn’t fleeting, it’s steady and whole,
Yet she’d share him freely, with no care for his soul.

I see her using his heart as a tool,
Playing him softly, making him a fool.
For her, it’s a game, a fleeting affair,
But for him, there’s more, though she doesn’t care.

She loves the chase, the lust, the dare,
Invites a third without a care.
Her heart’s a wanderer, unanchored, loose,
While mine is tethered with no excuse.

When I hear they’re together, my heart starts to break,
A pain so deep, it’s more than I can take.
Yet she stands there, willing to share,
As if his love is a game, not something rare.

If we’re opposites, stark as night and day,
How can his heart beat in both our sway?
Does he love her stillness, her endless grace,
Or the thrill of my ever-changing pace?

I hold his secrets, his dreams, his fears,
I would stand beside him through trial and tears.
Yet her fickle heart, unbound by shame,
Would most likely cheat and tarnish his name.

Perhaps he is both—the wild and the calm,
Drawn to our worlds like a hymn and a psalm.
Yet, in this triangle, I can’t help but see,
What he loves most may not be her or me.

I thought I could do it; God knows I’ve been trying.
But now I’m not so sure. I’ll just keep hiding it and lying.

I’m not doing well—I haven’t been since I can remember.
I’m trying, I promise that I am; but I don’t think I’m going to make it past December.

It’s easier for me to be strong for other people,
But when it comes to myself, I’m less resilient.
You see, I still don’t love myself enough; isn’t that just brilliant?

I’ve made big strides on the path of self-love,
But I still have such a long way to go.
How does one keep going when it feels like they’re always lost, always searching for home?

I’ve always found comfort in the heart of another person.
You see, they become my home, and when they leave, my self-love only worsens.

I need to find comfort within myself and start looking more inward.
But that’s easier said than done, especially when you want to be done with moving forward.

I don’t want to give up, but then again, yes, I do.
I’m so tired of everything, and honestly, the only thing that was keeping me going was you.

But I’ll never tell you that because, God, it would **** me if you knew.
I know the guilt would eat you alive, and that’s the last thing I want to do.
You don’t need any more on your plate, especially not in the volumes that I have.

Yeah, I know everyone has baggage, but mine is a storm.
A weight too heavy, a shape that doesn’t conform.
It’s chaos wrapped in silence, a burden I can’t share,
A never-ending ache that lingers in the air.

So I’ll carry it alone, no matter how it burns,
And shield you from the darkness with every twist and turn.
You’ve got enough to handle; you don’t need my despair,
I’ll lock it all away—it’s mine alone to bear.

So instead, you’ll never know, because I just couldn’t live with myself if you ever found out.
I have never loved someone more than I love you—that’s the truth, without a doubt.

And even if I decide to leave this earth because the pain just won’t stop,
I don’t want you to ever realize or notice.
There’s more to life than waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I don’t know how many times I can say it, but I just want you to be filled with joy.
So, you’ll never find out just how badly I’m struggling; I’ll just keep pretending and act coy.

You see, I can be a good actress; I put on a ******* good show.
So even if you stop hearing from me, I just want to remind you one last time, because you deserve to know:
I love you with every ounce of my being, and God, I hope you know that’s true.
I’ve honestly never loved anybody as much as I love you.

Our souls are connected—I can feel it; it’s true.
If I can’t be the one to love you, I just hope she does a decent job too.

I love you. I’m sorry. I’ll try to hang on for as long as I can.
But I can no longer promise that I’ll stay; please just know I’ve never met a better man.

I hope she makes you happy and that your love she’ll never outgrow.
You deserve the world, my love. I hope you understand and know.
And that’ll be the last thing you hear from me after I decide it’s time to let go.

I’ll take a step back, I’ll say goodbye.
I’ll put on a smile, even though all I want to do is cry.

I want you to be happy, no matter what that means.
I prioritize your happiness and well-being over my own, it seems.

But that’s what love is: being selflessly devoted.
I’ll gladly continue to sink as long as you’re the one who has floated.

After everything you’ve endured, you don’t need any more stress.
So, I can walk away—I just need to get this off my chest.

You are the most incredible person I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.
That’s why I don’t give a **** that my heart is the one taking the beating.

If she is the one, your person, your soulmate,
Why was she in your life for so long before she realized? In my opinion, she’s too late.

Yeah, maybe that’s selfish thinking, to bring up our instantaneous connection.
But you’ve known her for how long, and she’s just now mentioning how she’s always craved your attention?

Maybe I’m bold, maybe I’m just insane.
But from day one of meeting you, there’s no way I could have kept that a secret; you truly consume my entire brain.

If I were her, I would’ve blurted out that I loved you from the moment we met.
So why, after all this time, does she want you to know? It’s like she doesn’t want you to forget.

I don’t know her; I won’t villainize her.
I’m sure she’s a lovely girl. But, sorry-not-sorry, she won’t give you the world.

Like I will, if you’ll let me. It just honestly doesn’t make sense.
How could she let you live life alone when you’ve been begging to be seen?

I see you, John. I’ve seen you since the moment we met.
I don’t want to give up on us—not ever, not just yet.

You’re telling me she could have had you this entire time,
Yet just recently she let you know that you’ve “always been on her mind.”

I’m not calling her a liar—it’s not hard to see why that could be the case.
But I’m just worried she is playing a silly game of chase.

Whereas I am playing the long game; I’m not going anywhere.
I want your love, your heart—****, I want your last name.

Maybe I’m the one who is delusional, or ridiculous, or crazy.
Honestly, I can’t help it; ever since I’ve met you, everything in my life has been a little hazy.

The only real clarity I’ve been able to see is you.
While everything else is dark and hopeless, the only thing keeping me going is how my feelings are true.

I’ve never felt this way, John. There are no words to describe how I feel.
Saying “I love you” doesn’t come close to expressing how this has to be the real deal.

The love poets write about, the kind people die for.
I swear to God, these feelings shake me down to my core.

I BURN for you, in every ******* imaginable way.
You are always in my head and heart, every second of every day.

I want you to know you are so loved, whether it’s me you pick or not.
I’m constantly trying to figure out if I should give up or continue shooting my shot.

You see, I don’t want to make this harder on you; you don’t deserve to feel torn.
I just want to fight for this, fight for you, fight for us—because the love I feel we’d have is all I’ve ever wanted since I was born.

My body literally shakes just thinking about you.
My emotions are so strong, I genuinely don’t know what else to do.

This is something special, something truly unique.
A love I know you and I have always tried to seek.

We could have the world’s sweetest love story, two people completely obsessed with each other.
But to get there, we both have to endure this current purgatory.

I know you don’t want to hurt anyone, and if I have to I’ll take one for the team.
Because, truly, I’d rather be the one to die than have any more shots taken to your self-esteem.

You are beautiful and wonderful—what the world needs more of.
I have no problem expressing that you’re the one that I love.

If she feels this way too, then I won’t be able to assist.
But honestly, I can’t see that happening—how did she not know she loved you from the moment she realized you exist?

Because that’s what happened to me. And yeah, I wear my heart on my sleeve.
Maybe that’s my problem, but I don’t care; I actually believe.

I believe in us and what we could become.
I believe we could be the greatest love story—a love so strong we’d both forget what it ever felt like to be numb.

I want that for you, more so than for me.
I want you to feel true happiness and love—I want your soul to be set free.

Free from the pain, from the demons you keep.
I just want to be the person you wake up next to and the one you’re with when you fall asleep.

I don’t want to make this harder on you; I just want to express how I feel.
Because I know she’ll do the same, but I hope you can tell which one is more real.

I don’t know about you, but I want someone who is sure they love me—that I’m their home.
I don’t want someone who, after years, finally decides they want to be with me because it’s better than being alone.

If, after all this, I’m still not the one you choose,
Please don’t worry about me. Even though, I’m sensitive and easily bruised.

But don’t let your heart be heavy. Don’t worry about me at all.
Because, although I hope I’m your person (and honestly, I feel I am), this story—our story—will always be my favorite to recall.

I love you. I adore you. I’m yours, if you’ll have me.
We could have the world’s sweetest love story—that’s a promise I can guarantee.