every missed opportunity felt like a stab in my heart. seventeen unread text messages later i'm sure of what you think of me. (you don't think of me) i'd tell you over and over again that you're the most amazing person ive ever met, until you're tired of me and kill me. i'd tell you over and over again that i love you, until you start to resent me and maybe even then i won't stop because — till death do us apart? every sidewalk, every unexplored street, i long to see you everywhere and in nothing. ofcourse i have loved people before and i'll love again and — since, you're my grandest poem and i'm the most successful failure of a poet i'll never love anyone the way i love you. lost artists and their muses find you familiar, portraits drawn and burnt resemble you. how many times have i seen your before? behind the phone booth, in the cafe, on the bridge, in a grocery store line, classrooms and hallways, and in another life. how many missed opportunities will it finally take me to regret you? i have lost count (and you) over and over again. over and over again i've searched for you in a room full of strangers only to see my face's reflection. over and over again i've been told i'm turning into someone you'd never hold. and i know it. you think i don't? every sidewalk, every unexplored street, the abandoned playground behind my house and the closed mall — i know them like the back of palm. i keep searching for you in places you'd never be. like in dances, and the five miles away cinema hall, and in me.
