I find myself romanticizing what I had
more than what I have.
Her loss, the distance, and the breakup
are realities I live with every day.
Her memories feel easier to love
than the weight of her presence ever was.
I gave my love as an offering,
placing it into her hands
as though it were my deepest devotion.
Never once did I make her feel
that she had to earn my tenderness.
It was deep, deliberate, and unwavering.
I only wanted my love to surround her
like something sacred,
to carry the parts of her that trembled in silence.
My love felt so pure, so endless,
that anyone who truly witnessed it
might have been moved to tears.
I never offered my affection in fragments,
but with my full strength, my whole heart.
I chose her completely.
I did not see her as someone
who was merely wanted, but profoundly known,
as though I had known her for centuries.
And even after I let her go,
I still love her memories.
They remain with me
like the oxygen I breathe,
invisible, constant,
keeping something inside me alive,
even when she is no longer here.
By
Sanji-Paul Arvind
No comments:
Post a Comment