“The Eye That Sees You”

He brought you ten thousand roses to rekindle love in your pain,
But they were not your favorite colors, nor your cherished scent.
I bring you an everlasting rose:
The shape, style, and the color of your heart.

The eye with which you see him
is not the eye with which he sees you.
I gaze at you with tender affection,
deep devotion
until you peer deep into my soul.

You crave attention, presence,
He offers none.
I come to make you whole.

He paints a newness,
cloaked in deception,
a fragile illusion
That cannot withstand the trials of a thorned heart.
What you need is to be “chosen forever,”
beyond mere recognition.

I offer adventures unforgettable,
Handwritten love notes that linger,
A bouquet of wildflowers arranged to your taste—
For you are my all
Wanted above all else in this world.

“Rupture: I Am the One Who Mourns”

I lose sleep thinking of you,
searching for words strong enough to endure,
writing verses meant to awaken your soul
beautiful enough to bring you back.

I studied the art of love and loving,
searched for the most luminous poems ever written,
hoping to perfect my craft,
hoping, still, to win you back.

All this
for a single smile from you,
even if it must travel through the wind.
All this
so you might think of me again,
so you might see me again.

I borrowed words from other poets
so memory would return your gaze to me.
I wore their lines as my own,
as if my imagination had deserted me
as if love itself had driven me wild.

On Monday, I sent you my first borrowed
breath:
“I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment,”
so you might dream of us.
I am still in love with you.

The next day, I leaned on Frost
and whispered:
“Love at the lips was touch as sweet as I could bear,”
so you would know,
quietly, seriously
that I am still in love with you.

I know our love moves slowly,
but when it rests, it rests for a long time.
Our silence became poetry,
because our hearts once spoke
to one another in secret.

Yet your disregard for my heartache,
the pain you caused,
taught me the frailty of your love—
that your passion for me
was never strong enough

to rekindle desire.

Your ignorance of my devotion,
of my silent prayers to the Divine,
of my daily tears and whispered laments,
led me to understand
that you never learned
how to love me
with care, with reverence, with respect.

And finally, your silence
made one truth unmistakable:
I am the only one mourning
the departure of a love
that was once beautiful,
once eternal,
the rupture of a bond
I believed was unbreakable.
I am the only one mourning.

“Where My Love Fell Short”

I am not writing this poem
to declare my love,
but to confess where it fell short.

There were moments
when my heart stood at a distance
instead of meeting yours.

This is my apology:
for overlooking your feelings,
for dimming your passion,
for loving you
with less care than you deserved.

This is not a poem of triumph,
but a quiet song of humility,
for the sorrow I carried into your life
and the ache and unrest
I placed in your hands.

I am not writing to win you back.
Only to speak honestly.
This is a song of affirmation
and forgiveness,
a testament to who I have become.

Your love changed me.
Your commitment led me inward,
taught me how to see,
how to stay.

Though I cannot undo the hurt,
I promise I will never be careless
with your heart again.

Today, I am the man
who names his failures,
who carries what he broke,
and offers this truth softly.

I am sorry.

“Before I Ever Met You”

I searched for you
in places I never expected love to live.
I dreamed of you
before I ever knew your face,
or delighted in your smile.

I kissed your lips a thousand times
before I knew their shape,
loved you
before our lives ever crossed.

Even now, I do not know
whether I will meet you in the world of flesh,
for my love has lived wrapped in a dream:
a dream that could become real
only if you chose to be visible,
only if your presence drew near.

I have heard you are going away,
to a distant land—
whether by choice or by fate,
I do not know,
but I still care.

My mind unraveled when news reached me that you would go.
Though I never touched your face,
never held you,
never learned the scent of your body,
I lost all sense of direction
when I read the words of your leaving,
as if half my heart were displaced,
cut clean into two inseparable pieces.
I cried into the night
and counted too many sleepless hours.

Still, I will search for you:
in dreams,
and, if I must, in the waking world,
until I find you,
where two hearts may merge as one.

And when I do,
I will not turn away again,
for then we will affirm
what has always been true:
that I am yours,
and you are with me.

“How I Loved You” or “As I Let You Go”

My love for you was never perfect,
but it was deep and sincere.
I knew I was not meant to fall in love with you, yet I did.
I could have chosen others to share my love with,
but I chose you because I wanted you
to feel loved,
to know care,
and to carry some trace of my life within yours.

I loved you gently,
and I loved you passionately.
I loved all of you, even what was imperfect. Though I knew we were different,
but I still chose you.
You were my choice, again and again.

Now, as I let you go, I hope you remember what we shared.
I made you my priority,
often even above myself,
my desires,
and my ambitions.
What I gave you, I gave freely,
and I will do it again and again.

I hope you find the happiness,
and the life I could not give you.
If life ever casts you aside
or tries to wrap you in shame,
I hope you find someone who will love you even more than I did,
think of you more than I could,
carry your heart more carefully than I ever managed.
I hope you he will treat you with greater gentleness and kindness than I was able to give.

I am writing this last poem to tell you how I have loved you,
to give shape to my devotion,
to name what I was willing to give:
the truth of my love, sincere and real.

I am writing this last poem to remind you how I chose you,
and where I stop,
not the end of loving you,
but the moment I choose to release you,
without saying goodbye.

I let you go, painfully, into a kinder life,
so you may know a more beautiful love
that comes after me.

May someone carry you gently.

“A Love Without Witness”

I love you in secret,
slowly,
so we may survive
the complexity of our story:
learning how to move through
a love never meant for daylight,
a love that must not speak its name in public.

I love you with caution,
as if loving you were a crime,
a hidden sin,
as if this tenderness, once exposed,
could undo our very existence.
It is a love shaped by anxiety,
formed in the quiet spaces that made us.

I love you in silence,
to protect the depth of what we share.
I love you where my heart speaks
in a language only you understand,
where only your soul
can hear its trembling sound.

Perhaps our love is real only there:
in disguise,
in distance,
in secrecy—
far from the pain it costs us,
where our souls can finally rest
in the simple thought of us.
Where the heart is allowed to feel,
but not act,
not reveal.
This is the mercy of loving you.

I love you from a distance,
because distance is preservation.
It aches us both,
yet it is how I keep you safe:
this sunlight we were never meant to touch.

You were my sunlight on bare skin.
I was the warmth that made you glow.
It is a love without witness,
distance transformed
into mutual devotion.