To a Mysterious Girl, My hands are just a millimetre from hers, if a thread's breadth could be measured then it’s that. The urge to touch her, hold her, feel her increase to the speed of the car. The cruellest part of love is knowing I'm but an option, never her choice. Every moment I saw her I hardly and hurtfully fell in love.
When I was just a sheep among 99, I made her my only lost sheep. Amidst the crowd, she was the one lost star I wished to reclaim. Every little thing about her—was engraved into my mind, knowing it would haunt me for life. I became the afterthought in her world, the one she called only when needing solace from the love of another.
I was but a dustbin for her pain, while she was the universe to me. Perhaps I exaggerate, but isn’t that the nature of love? When the sun sought to steal her warmth, I longed only to be her shadow, her eternal protector. Yet a voice within whispers, *She is not meant for you.* And still, the longing remains—an ache to know her more, to make her mine.
She lies beside me, dreaming of a past love, unaware that the one who offers all his heart’s devotion stands ready to heal her wounds—even as my own heart bleeds. Her word was my only command. She is my forbidden love, my unrequited devotion. I was branded as cold, arrogant, and lost, and now I long only to bear her burdens.
I was her moment of desire, while she is the essence of my love. A bitter truth remains: never love someone whose heart beats for another. To hear their love for someone else, each word like a shard in your chest. Waiting is a heart's silent agony.
It was day end; weird and tired of roaming. I always wanted to sit in front while travelling just to get the view of roads and vehicles rushing down with lots of dreams and drama. But today it is different. My tired face gazed with shine by staring at her in the side mirror.
The world slept and my mystery girl was saddened by her mysteries without even knowing that I could love her with all her flaws and mysteries. The more I tried to distance myself, the deeper my heart entwined with hers. People around me don't know what I feel or for whom I feel. I live in a world where I'm the only princess to love anyone I want.
Love is a serious drug that I'm addicted to... I know there isn't any future or hope or not even love in return but still, I choose that. How foolishly wonderful is the heart's desire? There were moments I hesitated to answer, wearied by the constant sight of your name lighting up my screen. Yet now, your essence rules every second of my existence.
My hands tremble with fear and desire to dial your number knowing that your heart might never echo mine. I long to find solace in another, hoping to cleanse my mind of your memories. Throughout my life, I was taught that love means letting people go, but that's not the love I crave.
I want to hold you close, just for me, to demonstrate the lengths one can traverse for true love. After a day’s silence, seeing your name on my screen made my heart race with hope, though it was also tinged with the fear of rejection. We spoke about all the daily duties that you did but my heart whispered to ask you to speak your love for me.
Maybe it's just me who fainted in your magical touch and you are just being you. In every possible universe, my love for you remains unwavering. Passing by the place where I first discovered the depths of affection, my gaze constantly sought you in every shadow and memory that lingered.
I searched for you without knowing what I searched in you. My mind whispered that certain love is eternal; yet my heart retorted, that some scars too never fade. When every part of the Instagram reel reminds you of and you sent a waiting reel which was to be sent to the love of your life reassuring that you’re not my girl. Useless but wanting more.
Every fibre of my being yearns to reach out to you, to touch the flame even though I'm certain it'll burn. I hate myself for wanting you so badly. It's not love, I'm certain, so why this fixation, this irrational hope of winning your heart? I'm just a distraction for you when I kept you as my concentration shot.
The moment I saw you with your hair twinkling to and for your face I tried to imagine your face as the most disgusting and ugliest face I've ever seen but my mouth betrayed me by saying those words *"You look stunning".* I knew there was no spark when we first met, no silent whisper in my heart that you would become my Monica.
The truth is, you don’t understand me when I’m low. You don’t see the way I see you. I laugh with you, but inside, I shout at myself for letting you have this hold over me. I could have been in an accident, rushing to drop you off, but why do I push myself to choose you above all, when I am but a shadow to you?
I couldn't sleep, my skin burned with rashes, my father was in the hospital, undergoing angiography, and still, through it all, I longed to be with you. What am I telling myself? I clasp my hands together, trying to keep them from searching for your company. I dream of travelling this endless road with you, your grip steady, holding me tight.
Even the bus handle feels the strength of my hold, bearing witness to how much I wish to never let you go. Each night, as we sleep on opposite sides, I dream of pulling you into my arms, feeling your breath against me, and kissing your forehead with a soft goodnight. But I wake from that dream to face the truth—you’re someone else's love, and I am but a thing in your world.
I turn away, not wanting to see your back, not wishing to face the reality that you may never want to see me again. I’m terrified to show you my feelings, afraid you might think it’s all because I desire you. When your eyes dance like pendulums, swaying back and forth, and mine are caught in yours, I wonder if there’s a chance, I could glimpse the essence of what lies beneath your gaze.
It all happened from that day which is a mistake from your side and sparkle from my side. I wish your side to win; though I lose heavily. Silently, I've chronicled every nuance of our story, with a flicker of hope that one day, presenting these pages to you might rekindle our past but at the end of the day I wish you to hold hands with the love of your life and you smashed my feel by blabbering about your love—a poignant reminder: *you were never meant for me.*