Ours is a love like
Fresh flowers of hall.
Old letters in wadrobe.
A love that
poets write,
people dream.
What else could I ask for?
You taught me how to love myself,
Sorry I couldn't learn the same way you do,
I couldn't see me myself same way you do,
I still yearn to see what you see.
As if all magic started after you,
every thing started making sense.
Everything seemed bliss
breezes felt like forehead kiss.
I am sure enough
I am unable to find words beautiful enough,
indescribable to what it means
One who defines 'forever' for me
Consistently, continually you and me.
YOU ARE READING
BEHIND THE TEXS
PoetryAn anthology of all the poems I wrote for the the boy whose silent treatment made me a writer.This book is a collection of all the texts I died to send but couldn't, or unsent if sent hence the name BEHIND THE TEXTS.
