I often wonder
if there is some part of me that still feels the same.
I've spent the rest of my night listening to songs on soundcloud that were in my native tongue. They boasted tales of unconditional love, mourned the infatuation that guised itself as love, and yearned for the gaze of the object of their affections.
It led me to think: If things went differently, could I have actually fallen in love with you?
The moon gazed down at its kingdom when I messaged you, fuelled by foolish infatuation.
You know, I think I could fall in love with you.
Take this with a grain of salt. I was younger, albeit not by much. But at that time, I sat on cotton candy clouds and would gaze at the horizon with rose-tinted Sunnies™.
Now, although not much time has passed, I've slipped through the clouds and crashed onto the pavement, the rose-tinted Sunnies™ are decorated with cracks and my view of the horizon is distorted.
I would like to think that if I wasn't as selfish, I could've seen the day where our fingers intertwine and I whisper I love you against your lips.
But I must make do with the reality I live in, even if I'll spend it whispering "What if?"