“In my poems we made memories.”

Losing her was plenty.

No matter what I do I’m still not the best writer for you.

I still see you in my dreams, teasing my feelings and damaging my heart.

You’re rare, which some people don’t care, but I do.

The words that appeared from my Ink where that could describe my love for you.

As my heart began to melt this is what your Emerald eyes do to me.

This time I’ll be better for myself, at least for myself.

I love you but your eyes didn’t see my worth

You’ll heal after this painful chapter.

I hope you could see how blind people see the world with their imaginations.

She was just my kind of poetry.

You’re always welcome if you find someone better than me.

She built walls to protect herself from intruders who made her feel unworthy.

Many people can write, but only the rare can understand the pain behind your unwritten emotions.

I still write poems about you, when I know you never write about me.

I wrote many poems about her and held her so close to my heart that she did not even knew a place there.