« A maze, you get lost.  
A labyrinth, you find yourself. »
But this love I feel  
only pulls me further away.  

The more I try to explore it,  
the more it unravels me.  
Every path I take  
leads deeper into the unknown,  
a place where even my shadow  
doesn’t feel like home.  

I search for meaning,  
for the way back to clarity,  
but all I find is more of you,  
and less of me.  

This love,  
a labyrinth with no center,  
no end,  
just endless turns  
where I lose myself again and again.

If I saw him loving someone else,  
Would I still love him?  
I’d say no  
but the truth? It’s hidden deep within.  

I’d tell myself I’m better off,  
That it’s his loss, not mine,  
But my heart would still ache,  
As if I were stuck in time.  

I’d smile and pretend to be fine,  
Act like it doesn’t hurt,  
But inside, a storm would rage,  
As I’d watch him love her  
and feel the weight of every word.  

Would I still love him?  
I can’t lie, I know I would.  
But I’d let him go,  
For the sake of what I should.

Maybe in another universe,  
I could see him loving me.  
In a world where the stars align,  
Where we’re exactly what we’re meant to be.  

But the truth is,  
we only have this one.  
And in this world,  
he loves someone else,  
and I’m left with the weight of what’s undone.  

Maybe in another life,  
things could be different,  
but here and now,  
it’s just me and the silence,  
wondering what could have been.

He used to look at me,  
eyes meeting mine like secret words,  
quietly folding over our small world.  
A laugh, a smile,  
a glance that lingered just a little longer,  
like we were caught in a whispered story.

But now there’s nothing.  
Days pass like a dimming pulse.  
No messages, no mentions,  
just the cold echo of everything left unsaid.  
The warmth once here has slipped away,  
like it never even happened,  
a memory erased before it had the chance to stay.

I wonder if I imagined it,  
if the closeness was just a flicker in the dark.  
He’s here and gone, like a fading spark.  
And though I wish it would light again,  
I wait in silence, shadows,  
just the ache of where he’d been.

I’m giving you until December 31st,  
to make me change my mind,  
but I won’t tell you.  

For now, I’ll talk to you,  
write about you,  
think about you endlessly,  
and tell my boy best friend all about you.  

Until December 31st,  
I’ll hope your feelings might shift,  
that maybe, just maybe,  
you’ll love me,  
and tell me you do.  

Because five minutes before midnight,  
I’ll send you this poem,  
and I’ll wait for your answer.  

If you don’t feel the same,  
I’ll delete your Snap,  
your Insta,  
the Halloween post,  
and every poem I’ve ever written about you.  

I’ll try to forget,  
but I know I won’t.  

Three years ago,  
we spoke once,  
just a bit,  
and I’ve loved you since.  

We didn’t talk after the game,  
but we met again,  
at that Halloween party.  

I knew you’d be there.  
I made sure I looked pretty,  
hoping you’d notice,  
hoping it would make you like me.  

I don’t think it did,  
even if your eyes  
told a different story.  

I’ll never forget the night you told me  
you didn’t like anyone.  
I’ll never forget it,  
because that was the first time  
I showed someone a poem.  

I’d posted my words on stories,  
but never sent one so raw,  
so personal,  
to someone.  

But I showed it to you,  
because it was about you,  
because with you,  
it felt true.

When I see you again,  
I’ll wait from afar,  
watching, hoping,  
to see if you’ll come to me.  
Even just a wave  
a small sign  
that I still exist to you.  

When I see you again,  
I won’t talk to you first.  
I’ll wait,  
even if it breaks me,  
even as I wait for something  
I know might never come.  

If you text me now,  
I won’t answer.  
I’ll wait,  
just like I wait every day  
for the answers you never give.  

I’ll wait until I realize  
how foolish I’ve been,  
and I’ll answer anyway.  

I’ll try to shake off the truth  
that you don’t care,  
but it lingers  
because if you did,  
you would’ve tried.

I’m not mad,  
I’m just sad  
so empty inside,  
but I swear,  
I haven’t always been like this.  

I was Daddy’s little girl once,  
sweet, naive,  
careless and happy.  

Then I grew up  
and the sadness grew with me.  
I couldn’t let it out,  
so I bottled it all.  

Being mean became my mask,  
my way to hide the pain.  
It still is.  

But now I wonder  
what’s the point anymore?