To: A Boy That Will Never Love Her
This is not a poem about a beautiful boy filled with beautiful words and beautiful thoughts who only sees me as a friend.
This is not a poem to talk about my feelings, to tell you that I loved you, and that now, that love is gone.
This is certainly not a poem for me to list every damn thing that took my breath away when I used to look at you.
For example, I will not tell you about your smile, or the sound of your laughter, or the way the sun used to enlighten your hair… And how those things would cause me to desperately desire a way to stop being me, so I could be someone you would like to be with.
I won’t confess either how much I cried on the night I stopped loving you. Or how I felt that day, when I realized those butterflies on my stomach that appeared whenever I saw you were substituted by emptiness and a void in my soul that caused me to wonder if I still loved you.
You never knew nothing about my feelings. And if you did, fuck you. And I hate you. Because this is not a poem for you to feel sorry about me. This is not a poem so you can catch up with what has been happening in my mind the past twelve months.
This is not a poem. This is not a letter. This is not about you.
P.D. But in a way, it is.