All for you
I think I’ve loved you
in every poem I’ve ever written.
Even before I met you,
before I knew your name or the sound of your voice,
my love poems somehow still described you perfectly.
The bright eyes.
The soft smile.
The feeling of warmth disguised as a person.
It almost feels like the universe was trying to warn me,
quietly hinting that one day
I would meet someone
who would ruin poetry for me forever.
Because now every line I write
somehow becomes about you.
Even the poems that never mention your name
still carry pieces of you hidden between the words.
I tried confessing quietly,
hiding my feelings inside metaphors and imagery,
hoping maybe one day
you’d stop and finally notice.
Maybe you’ll realize
the reason all my poems sounded so desperate
was because every single one
was yearning for you.
But I don’t think you’ll ever truly see it.
So my words will probably stay here for years,
buried in notebooks, collecting dust while the feelings inside them
continue loving you anyway.
And maybe one day, far from now,
you’ll look back at my poems
and finally notice the clues I left behind for you.
The repeated mentions of your eyes.
The way every ending somehow circled back to you.
The desperation hidden between every line.
And maybe then you’ll realize
that all this time
I was never just writing poems.
I was trying to tell you
I loved you.
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