Writers 
You arrived without thunder.
No orchestra,
no prophecy,
no warning.
Just a smile
that quietly rearranged
every room inside my heart.
I have loved you
in all the ordinary ways—
In unanswered messages,
in crowded rooms where our eyes
almost met,
in conversations I replayed
long after they were over,
finding new meanings
you never meant to leave behind.
You were never cruel.
Only honest.
Your heart belonged elsewhere,
or perhaps nowhere at all,
and mine...
mine chose you
like the sea chooses the shore—
Again.
Again.
Again.
They tell me
the bravest thing to do
is let go.
But what if I don't want bravery?
What if I want this?
This impossible ache,
this quiet devotion,
this beautiful prison
I built with my own hands.
People call it a mistake,
as though love
must always end
where it isn't returned.
But I have seen gardens bloom
from abandoned places.
I've seen sunsets
that lasted only minutes
change the color
of an entire sky.
Not everything beautiful
is meant to stay.
You taught me
how deeply a heart could feel,
how fiercely it could hope,
how gently it could break
without forgetting
how to beat.
So no,
I won't erase you.
I won't pretend
you were merely a lesson,
or reduce you
to a chapter I outgrew.
You are the poem
I'll never finish writing,
the song that refuses
to leave my head,
the home
I was never invited into.
And strangely...
I'm at peace with that.
Because loving you
did not ruin me.
It revealed me.
If my greatest love
is one I'll never hold,
then let history
call me a fool.
I will answer
with a smile.
For not every love story
is meant to be lived.
Some are meant
to be carried.
Quietly.
Faithfully.
Beautifully.
And if, years from now,
someone asks me
what became
of the love of my life,
I'll simply say—
"She was my most beautiful mistake."