Writing has always been my refuge — a way to make sense of the uncontrollable. When words fail in real life, I turn to the page, shaping feelings into metaphors and softening reality into something beautiful.
That’s what I did when I met you. You became poetry before you even knew it. Your smile, the light in your eyes, the way you spoke about things you loved — it all became lines in my writing. I froze those moments, hoping words could hold you close.
But words have their limits. I can write a thousand poems about you, but that doesn’t mean you’ll see them, or that they’ll change how you feel. I can capture my love on paper, but I can’t write my way into your heart.
Love can’t be forced, not even with the most perfect rhyme or imagery. That’s the bittersweet truth I’ve come to accept. As a writer, I can create beauty from my emotions, but I can’t create the one thing I truly want — your love.
Still, I write. Not because it will change anything, but because it helps me make peace with the distance between us. Poetry won’t make you love me, but it lets me honor what I feel.
Maybe one day, I’ll write about someone who loves me back. Until then, I’ll keep turning you into poetry — not to win your love, but because it’s the only way I know to keep loving, even if it’s only on the page.