These Days, I Write Only About Us: My Yearning to Die and Your Presence That Forces Me to Stay Alive.

it's hard to be anywhere these days when all I want is you

The Ferris wheel stands tall across from my work,

A silent reminder of stuffs I haven’t yet braved.

It waits; 

Just like my feelings, desire and fear unsaid. 

Heights scare me; 

But what’s scarier is the thought of anyone—especially thee,

Knowing the depths of my mind and heart. 

Yet, here I am;

Quietly unfolding, letting you see the hidden parts. 

Here I go again;

8 weeks right?

How fast the time flies, 

I remember the day I saw more in your crinkled eyes. 

When I told her about you, 

She looked at me with a deep sigh, 

"You go on but if he breaks your heart, 

By my hand he'll die."

"Don't worry" slipped from my tongue but she knew that it was a lie. 

It was too much for me to hold, 

So, I poured my heart in paper, twice I fold,

In secrecy she slipped it in your envelope.

For the first time in my life I was being bold.

But my words lingering, unanswered, 

as if they were too heavy or too light for you to hold,

Didn't expect you to be so cold. 

Tell me, what did you feel in that moment?

Instead of just your gratitude, 

I wanted more—I wanted to hear the truth in your voice. 

When you saw my scribbled words, my feelings spilled out onto paper, did you understand that each line was my way of saying you are my choice? 

And it might not make sense, 

Holding onto us why I being dense?

When the reality I clearly knew,

In this life you will just be my dream, 

Why I'm still scribbling about you?

May be I get my hopes high, 

when I caught you looking at me.

But let it be;

Cause I was doing the same, 

Playing childish hide and seek game,

Even she asked why I'm not looking at you, such a lame!!

But the way you turn your gaze some where else, 

I wonder what are you so afraid of, 
It's such a shame, of masculinity of men. 

Then it hits me, 

And I hate it when I see your face and know you're feeling different.

Inside me, all the butterflies cause turmoil, 

My emotions turn out in pain, 

I get a feeling of all my efforts are vain. 

Still, 

I feel you close in the crowd, even when we’re six feet apart,  

like a quiet pulse that syncs with mine, buried deep in my heart.  

It’s more than just presence; it’s a warmth I can’t ignore,  

I feel you in my bones, in places I’ve never felt before.

I’m saving these lips for you—or maybe for the sweet kiss of death.  

So tell me, dumbass, do you really think I’ll just let you go that easily?