How can I miss

what I never even had?

And now my heart

is full of bruises,

the tragedy

of a love

I never even touched.

Now it haunts my dreams,

and the ghost

of what could have been

suffocates me

in the waking hours.

So, can you be

a little kind

and look my way?

Let it be my delusion,

Let it be only a dream,

Just be near me,

for one moment,

Or one

impossible eternity,

so that,

for once,

I can finally breathe.

I will write you

into my poems forever.

so even when I die,

Ican immortalize your soul,

and etch it,

into my blood,

through the silence

of my grave.

And when my final breath

finally leaves me whole,

I know it will still

carry your name,

like it was the

one and only truth,

It has ever known.

Perhaps delusion

was the only way

to keep you sacred.

But what if

it turns rancid

with every breath

I take?

Should I let you go—

or simply

let you be?

But tell me, my muse

what is there

to let go of,

when there was never

someone

to lose?

When the hand

I ached to hold

was always

too far from mine—

a privilege I sought,

but never,

meant to have.

And I yearn for your smile—

wishing it were mine.

And I yearn for your eyes—

to look at me, only once;

as though the world had

frozen the moment your

gaze drifted over mine.

Yet some unseen veil never

let us become one.

And I yearn for your musk—

like an addict

yearning for the drug

that ruined her capacity to love anyone

But it.

And I yearn, yearn, yearn—

My dear, terribly;

for you

like a lover

shot through the head,

yet still crawling

only to die

within your arms.

Even if I die,

I will still carry

echoes of him

in my weeping shadows.

And when I am sealed

In the core of earth:

and mud covers my

barrened soul,

while maggots feast on my cadaver;

and bones:

still they would find

the remnants of his love in me

the way he remains

tangled within my being.

Even if not as mine,

he will forever remain

as my muse.

My muse,

you are like a bird.

You should fly,

Far from here,

not spend your life

Caged in the hands;

of a poet who only knows

how to turn longing into

Endless verse.

Tear your way

through my blood-drenched walls,

hold my heart,

or squeeze it

until it take its final breath.

Yet whatever you do, my divine lover;

do not let it forget

your moonlit, pale skin,

the astronomy of my world

still searching for your

mirage.

Even then,

if my memory

fades your name,

or time pretends

you never existed within me,

I will still be waiting,

kneeling at your doorstep,

until the day

We remember each other again.

Even if it takes another

lifetime of waiting,

I will spend it inside my sepulchre;

until I am awakened,

and the ouroboros of my love,

begins to loop again.

You are the Atlantis of my heart,

sinking deeper with love,

a city once burning

then came the floods.

Earthquakes trembled

through the veins

that once held you close.

You are still the Atlantis of my heart.

It has been almost two years

since the day I fell

you became my ruin,

and yet the only place

my ribcage ever felt safe.

The contentedness of your presence,

without ever having you close…

now I yearn you like a myth

whose name was erased

as if even a warrior like you

are still fighting

to live inside me.

But it is only the illusion of you.

Now, I am crumbling slowly,

my muse.

My hands are trembling,

my lips quivering,

as if I lost you

without ever having you at all.

Even if our fates

refuses to meet,

and you exist

somewhere

only I can reach,

through worlds,

woven from my own skin.

Even then I will hold you close.

Through verses of my yearning,

Which will remain yours forever

Even if our destiny is unfinished.

And,

I will still reach

for your hands,

though they were never

offered to me.

And I will keep you alive

within the diary

written in blood,

That dripped from

My,

fingertips,

its pages stained

with the ghost

of your world.

Even if distance

is the only form of love

destiny allows us,

And every door for us,

Is sealed shut,

I will still,

kneel before it willingly.

So, my forever love,

Even if you are never mine,

yet somehow

you will always remain

mine

to mourn in memories.

Starless night,

a road so barren,

leading only

towards a place

that carried

the name

of my dearest lover.

And that place was

my forsaken soul,

where my lover resided.

Countless nights passed

through the smoke

of burning souls,

somewhere distant,

yet unbearably close.

My beloved,

now I cannot move,

sitting still

within the hardened silence

of a tongue

that speaks no more,

unless it is praying

for you

and your holy being.

The cathedral of love,

Where the confession breathes;

I love you, my beloved,

with a devotion

that never reached you,

but remained within me,

rotting softly

beneath my ribs.

So I bleed

into the river of my tears,

hoping its current

might still lead me

to wherever

you sojourn.

Would you have known,

somehow?

that it was me

knocking against a heart

sealed behind

alchemized sins?

But you never opened it,

and I waited,

like a monk

who never once beheld

the only soul

he spent his life

praying for.

So forgive me,

my muse,

for I have become

deprived of everything.

Now I remain

at your mercy,

whether you believe,

or leave,

or never even see me.

Yet still,

I cherish the curse

Of loving the only soul,

who ever made

my damnation holy.

Let me carry these poems

into my grave,

if you could never be mine,

then let the echo of you

I carved into words

Where the ink lies still,

stained with blood,

be buried with me.

What can I offer,

I ask myself,

if love demands

everything we own?

But,

What if all I have

is this

an undying love in me,

Breathing for you?

Would you believe it all,

After reading hundreds of poems

I have written in your name?

Or will you do,

When the earth swallows my grave,

As my coffin lowered into silence

would you have faith in me then?

that you have undone me,

Utterly, without even glancing at my way.

Though still unaware,

you move within me,

a quiet ache

tiptoeing against my ribs.

Will my love alone

ever be enough?

Because I know,

Kisses cannot fill

an empty stomach,

nor quiet

the hollow in a heart

yet they would linger

in our breath,

perhaps only if

you could hold me

as your truth.

I have nothing to offer

but what is mine

and even that,

I would surrender.

If you asked me

to abandon my own skin,

I would strip myself bare,

slowly,

as if undoing a curse

written into my flesh.

So tell me, my darling,

if my love were enough,

would you finally come to me?

At last,

would you choose me

as your lover?

What do I own of you?

Only the distance we carry,

or maybe the way you exist

viscerally,

just beyond my reach.

Your eyes, like emerald,

tinged with quiet browns,

Whisper into the depths of my sleep.

There is nothing

I own of you, darling,

I never could.

I never did.

Not your voice,

not your touch,

not even a moment

that was ever mine.

Only this

a fragment of your soul,

or perhaps just the illusion of it,

That I weaved through my longing,

You will find them,

living in me rent-free.

And a fragile hope,

of us, somewhere untouched by reality,

in a world

we never had to fight for,

a reality

we could call ours.

Come to my dream, my muse,

Maybe just you

Or only your ghost.

Blessing my yearning gaze,

waiting at the windowsill

where I keep all the things unsaid,

Now, I can finally confess

everything I’ve ever written,

because dream is

the only place I ever can.

Maybe it is just my own soul

craving yours.

As my words,

aches in the

shape of your absence

when there is nothing there,

Or anything ever was,

not you,

not even your presence.

So I build a world,

written only for you,

hoping somehow

we will live there forever,

as one tender flesh,

two souls too tired

to search for anything else.

I vow to keep you in my heart,

A quiet melody

That hums without an end,

Strumming through my veins

Like strings fastened to my ribs,

Pulling at every breath I take.

You linger in the rhythm of those,

In every silent note I carry,

Unheard, yet never fading.

But if some miracle,

Ever led you to me,

And you choose to listen,

You would find yourself there,

Echoing within me,

Like a song

That plays in me, endlessly.

Even addiction to cigarettes

Would be merciful,

At least the poison

Has a name,

A shape,

A way to leave my lips,

The smoke curling into the air

Like something that can finally leave.

At least it comes with a warning,

A slow confession of ruin,

Of lungs turning to ash,

breath growing thin

Until it begs to be released.

But you,

You do not burn.

You do not leave.

You settle in me.

Like a quiet plague beneath my skin,

Like something ancient

That has always belonged in it.

You stay there unseen,

Until even my silence

Echoes what we could not be.

And I,

I do not exhale you.

I inhale you in,

Like a curse I have learned to cradle,

As you unwind me slowly,

Not into ash,

But into something

That cannot die,

Only festers in its own immortality.

How does one unlove you?

That question spirals through my mind endlessly, tightening around my thoughts like veiled hands, suffocating themselves in their own grip.

I have searched desperately for an answer, but there has never truly been one. Every road I tried to abandon, every path I thought might lead me away, curved back inevitably towards you, towards the quiet beauty of your soul.

I often wonder what it would be like to tell you all of this. To hold these thoughts between us, to gather you in my arms as I weep the love I was never meant to carry so loudly. Perhaps you would dissolve into the moment, or perhaps you would simply listen, your eyes fixed on mine, as if trying to understand a language you were never taught.

Or perhaps, in the fracture of all those broken moments, my desperation will finally break through, and I will begin to recite the letters, those I buried, hundreds of them, in the silence of nights that refused to end. And I know, if ever given the chance, I would chant each one beneath a fractured moon, its shattered light spilling over words that were never meant to be heard.

I know now, you were never meant to be unloved; you are something, the soul learns once and never unlearns, something it carries like a pulse beneath the skin, or a poison it willingly drinks. You exist in a way that asks for no permission, no awareness, and yet demands devotion all the same, settling deep, and taking a root of my love, where reason cannot reach.

Even in your unknowing, even in your distance, you remain in me, and the soul that holds you continues to love, as if it was always meant to be.

Those eyes of yours? They gave me a reason, to live, to move forward, to become something more than the stillness I once was.

And yet I am left wondering—what is the meaning of this journey, what is the purpose of this road, if you are not a destination I am allowed to choose?

Those flowers still sit at my grave,

The ones I planted in your name,

Petals fed by quiet melodies,

Roots tangled in a love

That's never been claimed.

So, I buried myself there,

Alone.

With a heart too full to carry,

In a world so empty,

Where the soil remembers my silence,

How I laid beneath it willingly,

Clutching the ghost of your presence

Like something sacred.

And still,

Your voice lingers,

A lullaby looping endlessly,

Rocking what remains of me

Into a restless, eternal sleep.

No mourners came,

No rituals were done,

Only the echo of a name

That was never mine to call.

Yet the flowers bloom,

Faithful and unaware,

Drinking my sorrow

from the decay of my longing.

This is a story of a

devotion that still haunts me,

After my death,

Yet, it still lives

when everything in me already died.

Melancholy seeps in deep,

And the realization hits,

We were nothing but,

Only the almosts of everything:

The kiss,

The embrace

You never quite pulled me in,

Yet it lingered in the air

I breathed that summer.

The quiet beating of hearts,

Our skin brushing against each other,

A monsoon waiting in the sky,

And those fragile,

nostalgic dreams

We both dared to live within.

The path we traced,

Or perhaps it was only me,

Following echoes of something

That was never truly mine,

To believe in.

Now,

Even the moon seemed to melt

Into the restless night,

As if it, too, longed

For one last taste

Of what we never became.

And the tears we never shed

Hung heavy in the silence,

Ravishing the spaces between us,

Unspoken,

Yet deeply felt.

At every melancholic night,

I still return,

To that unfinished moment,

Where everything almost happened,

yet.. nothing ever did.

He is a dream,

And dreams are

Rarely ever fulfilled,

They break,

They fade,

Yet lingers

In the cracks of my ribs.

He is free to be,

But what would I become?

Or what would become of me?

Perhaps I, too, would turn

Into an illusion.

For what is a life

Worth living,

If you are the only dream

I carry within me?

And still, I beg,

Falling to my knees,

To be freed from this,

Yet in my own clenched hands,

I find my heart,

Bleeding profusely,

Shaped in your bones and skin.