All this time, I thought I was writing for you, when I’ve been writing for myself all along.
All this time, I thought we’d meet again in our favorite church, exchanging our gazes and look-aways when we both see each other’s stares.
Perhaps, I was just wishing for you to smile at me under the ocean of stars because the darkness is somehow suffocating me.
It stings but it isn’t fatal — yet I needed you more than I needed myself the most.
Maybe I was too shallow that I didn’t realize I was already trapped in your eyes while I was busy finding the sparkle in there.
Maybe I was a coward of the darkness that I craved for your light even if it wasn’t made for me.
Maybe I was then a believer of happy-ever-afters but ended up having the worst plot twist.
Darling, maybe you’re just too good to be true — that it almost took me lightyears to accept that I’m not actually meant for you.