Four years down the line and I’m still here, waiting for you to call back, to text back, or maybe pay me a visit.
Four years down the line and I’m still caught up in my own imagination, hoping and wishing for true love where I can find none.
Is this the work of fate? Or did you decide this yourself. Did you decide to not make this work?
Four years down the line and I’m a blogger, a worker, and you’re a student, an academic. We’ve grown up, but we grew up to only be apart from each other. Can you call that growth?
My friends complain that my poetry is lackluster, and I see it myself. This is what you did to me. But please don’t ever think that I wrote this only to question your feelings, to dig for gold where there is none. Please don’t think that I wrote this to ask for answers to questions that have bothered me for years. No!
You and I are similar, we both want the best for each other, and want so much to be together, and want so much to make this work, and want so much to be successful, but there’s so much of wanting here, I don’t think this will work.