An ode to the love lost
And I sit here, burned by grief of what could've been only if one of us would accumulate the courage to live our truth.
'I wonder what it would be like to run my fingers through his curls'- I didn't realise I had voiced that thought. Maybe I said it in a released sigh or a whisper, maybe i yelled, either way I don't remember. It was a harmless fleeting attraction, or so i thought. He was pretty, yes, but he was also beautiful and intriguing in its highest sense. The kind of beauty uncharted waters offer. Mesmerizing, even. He'd leave you in a trance once you set your eyes on him. Or maybe you were exaggerating. Maybe, as pointed by many to you, you simply put him on a pedestal and romanticised him. Maybe he was just another boy with toned muscles, a smile that could light up cities of darkness and hair so tangled that hung loose on top of his forehead. His eyes, oh God, his eyes! His eyes were in resemblance of late autumn leaves that brought in the joy of it being cold and festive again. His eyes were the shade of brown that feels safe enough to confide in. Those irises alone would make you want to confess your dirtiest sins, in assurance that you'd be forgiven regardless. Yet, they were treacherous enough to doubt. The kind that swirl like sweet nectar. Brown, copper eyes that held in some kind of Greek tragedy. His eyes were gentle, almost vulnerable, like a fleeting gazelle's, one fleeing from potential predators. You'd see him staring right into your soul and you couldn't help but look away. Until you'd look back at that familiar warmth of christmas socks and hot chocolate on a chilly morning while you wrote letters to your lost lover by the fire. Destined for a grand tragedy. You'd look back, timid to hold eye contact, wondering what if it was all too good to be true? Men weave beautiful blankets of lies, you were aware. But you'd find his eyes breathless, as if after a passionate kiss and you'd know. You'd know that boyish grin by heart. You'd have it memorised as if it were beats you've hummed for months. You'd know he was luring you but you had known for a while now that that allure wasn't one of malice. What you wouldn't know was if he'd ever reciprocate this affection, and that would terrify you. So much that you'd never bring yourself to confess. And just like that, a love that could've been one for the history books, died suffocating under the ruins of ancient cities.
