A letter to my love.

Dear Love,

It is ok that you picked her over me. Who wouldn’t pick a rose over a wildflower?

A rose is beautiful. Poets, philosopher and lovers are hooked over its magnificence. Even gods stare at it. The scent is celebrated and the color is worshiped.

But darling despite the beauty, you crush the rose when you pluck it. A rose hurts you with her thorns. Rose is vulnerable. Rose is dependent. Rose craves attention. Rose craves love. It is withered by storms and the wind carries it away unlike the ungroomed wildflower.

The messy wildflower stands still. Patient, strong and unwithered .It blossoms, spreads and grows without any attention. No man can crush it, and it will hurt no man. A wildflower is undemanding, independent and unbothered.

But I get it you picked her over me. Who wouldn’t pick a rose over a wildflower?

Yours,

Wildflower.

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Gone.

Today I am thinking of him

More than I should

I don’t want to remember him

I know he doesn’t think of me

Yet I still check my empty inbox

Still check his twitter feed

Thinking if there is a status about me

Am I crazy?

Or Am I mad?

To love a guy who has never loved me

To love a guy who looked at her

The way I wanted to be looked at

Am I crazy?

For trying to bring him the moon,

In hopes to impress him,

I painted his picture,

Painted the sky,

Wrote a poem,

Yet it never touched him

I couldn’t give him words,

Because I am not good with it,

So I gave him my heart,

It is still with him.

Gone.