There are moments
when I also want myself to be a bit selfish.
I’d let myself even think for a moment
of telling someone who knows both of us,
someone who could show him my poems.
But my thoughts always turn like an owl’s head,
clearly saying no, because he wouldn’t want that.
He values privacy.
I know that.
And I cherish what he cherishes in life.
Sometimes I ask myself what it would be like
to send a reconnection invite,
or to look at him a little longer
if I ever get the timing right.
But he might not be ready.
So the owl shook its head,
while giving me another stop sign.
I respect his boundary,
and I don’t want to cross the line.
I don’t even really dare mention too much “love” or “like”,
because I don’t know how little it might take
for him to feel overwhelmed again.
To me, it’s just the truth,
simple, unchangeable facts I hold close.
How I wish I could have simply said hi.
How I wish I could have expressed my feelings just right.
But I wish things could flow like how he wished,
never force the pace,
never make him uncomfortable again.
He probably thinks I’ve already moved on.
He probably even thinks I didn’t want to engage another time.
He didn’t know how much I had to hold back that Tuesday,
so I wouldn’t show too much happiness in my eyes.
But oh,
how I wish so deeply for him to read my poems,
to understand my feelings, my world,
and grant me the chance
– to know him in person –
that I’ve longed for.
She never stopped.
He never knew.
She’s still here.
Never did
let him go.
If my life had an OST,
then he is
the OP,
the ED,
and each single interlude that ran.
I even changed my profile picture with a secret little hope
that maybe someone who blocked me
might one day take a peek @:
Privacy > Contacts > Blocked.
I hope fate will let him find me,
just like it helped us on that platform last week.
A heart so pure, a person so true.
My thoughts are simple,
the words don’t rhyme,
but they’re all genuine,
hoping for my VIP to understand♒️🌓✨
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Beneath the fading glow of dusk,
the streetlights seem as if someone has inlaid the clouds with tiny lamps.
The train gently sways the scenery into deeper thought.
I imagine a day
when distance no longer filters our conversation..
I would watch the sparkles in his eyes
when he smiles and speaks about his passions.
And his eyes - they shine.
As he lowers his sunglasses against the fading twilight.
“Do you maybe also have astigmatism?”
the bold curiosity in me would ask.
It scatters the light into a living map.
Slow-motion veins of wandering light,
interlaced with fleeting moments of bokeh effect,
until a whole luminous garden comes to life in his eyes.
Raindrops would leave elongated trails across the window pane,
threaded beneath the streetlights,
like intricate chains of exquisite jewels,
forming an ocean of constellations upon the glass.
The bare red maple down the road,
usually shy-looking in its winter clothes,
would be adorned with rain-flowers,
each watery petal holding our mirrored faces.
Would light itself describe light as light?
Would light be sensitive to its own reflection in the mirror?
“Do you know that photosynthesis works with you even at night?”
Ivy would continue softly:
“Because you are my light.” 🌞🪽♒️✨
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Being liked isn't always a bad thing. It might be unexpected, maybe even unwanted... but sometimes, it just means that maybe you're a little extraordinary✨🐯
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