To the Boy I Loved, Yet Could Not Call Mine,

To the boy I loved, yet could not call mine. Days turn into months, And months into years. Yet your touch still lingers, Your warmth still comforts— But it’s not the same anymore. They say time heals all wounds, But every night, I gaze at the stars And wonder where it all went wrong, Why it had to end, Leaving me with this ache And a lifetime of longing. "Please come back," I whisper, But only to myself, For even a second without you Feels like endless torment. With each passing moment, The pain deepens, Bit by bit, like a relentless tide That drowns me in your absence. I’m gasping for air, But there’s none to be found. Everyone else has moved on, Even I have, in my own way, Because my life didn’t end When yours did, Though I wish it had. I sit in the balcony, On my favorite chair, Gazing at the once-ethereal view. I remember when I called it beautiful, And you, looking at me, Stated, “Indeed it is.” Now, too old to be deemed beautiful, I gaze at the chair right behind, My fingertips collecting its dust, My eyes sensing your absence, And my heart—forever yearning your presence.