In English, we say unrequited love,
But in poetry, it bleeds in metaphors—
Like art from dried ink,
That feels so holy—a sacred drink.
A silhouette carved upon a valentine,
Dusky notes on pages of mine.
Smiling in sonnets, kissed by pain,
Weeping through verses, dangling in rain.
I burned to light the way you'd see,
My heart was caged to set you free.
I lived as a ghost that knew no more—
A shadow, a fool, behind the door.