I cannot
By User
I cannot make you understand what it is that I feel when I look at you.
It's not love, no.
Neither the curse of a crush.
It is far more devastating and lonely than the likes of those others.
It's longing.
A longing for you to see me as somebody worth stopping at halt.
Not because you see her as a chess piece or cuz she is talented,
But.. to want to get to know her soul for the fact that you are utterly enchanted.
A longing, for you to see me as your equal you wish to have always wanted.
I do not know who you are,
Or the favorite color of your shirt.
I do not know the movies you like to watch,
Or for whom it is that you are sad.
I only see you mad.
I only see the girl you desperately yearn to go back.
And I do not know why?
Why is it her for whom you do not wish to ignore or to slack?
Why not me? What is it that she has yet I unfortunately lack?
I do not understand.
And I do not get why you wish to go back.
To somebody who doesn't see you as anything except a rock in the track.
And why is it that you ignore somebody that desperately wishes for you to come back.
Come back to me..
Please?
Ahh—right.
You have never really reached here for me to wish you to be actually back.
You have never belonged with me.
And perhaps, you shall never be.
Yet I desperately want this to last.
Desperately want to be something more than the rest of the fading crowd that surrounds you daily—just a menace inside your task.
A pity it is though, for I —am nothing more than the shadows of a stranger.
Bitter truth it is.
For no matter how much will the pot has inside the depths of her heart,
The muddy broken pot cannot turn into a flask.
I do not know you a bit and Its not like I haven't seen the ugliness of your thoughts and your shit.
But—
I still want to be the one you stop to look back.
Not because you see your pawn or your piece.
But because you see that part of me that I have kept hidden from everybody else,
The excited, childish, silly part of me that still wishes to be seen.
Because you see that silent soul I hide behind the breath of my skin.
I do not know you.
I will not—ever.
But why does it feel like I have always known you since forever?
Right from the very start.
I shall not call it destiny or fate, for that's something I do not believe in to be.
And I shall not call this a metaphor for it is not the way that it seems.
It's like I have always said.
I do not know what it is.
And I do not know why.. it is, the way it is.