Estrangement

Romanticization

My eyes have grown tired from the countless love poems they achingly bear witness to.

Blurred words and line after line of one's beauty they hold in another person's perspective.

How does one love someone in such a way that they leave their lover dripping in inspiration and infatuation with immortalizing their passion into written form?

You see, when I think of you in a poetic sense, I feel I could pick up an ink-saturated pen and write and write and write all these beautiful things about you that portray you in a warm, luminescent light that would make even the angels cry. My hand would scream and ache in tiresome pain, begging to get some rest from the motion of writing. My cheekbones would raise up to my under- eyes and the corners of my mouth would outstretch my ears as I write you in vivid descriptions of the true beauty that is your existence.

I don't question how I could love someone in such a way that they leave me dripping in inspiration and infatuation with immortalizing their passion into written form.

I question how I could love someone in such a way that inspires them to write about me in the way these countless love poems portray.

I want to be immortalized in literature.

I want someone to write about me from their perspective. I want someone to romanticize me in the way I would do for them.

Maybe you could call it narcissism, call it naivety, call it hopeless romanticism.

There's just this nagging feeling within my heart that just wants physical proof that I'm not just another person to keep their bed warm at night. That I am someone worth writing about. That I am capable of leaving tender fingerprints on the heart of someone that sees me in an equal light. That I'm worthy enough to someone.

I just want to be romanticized.

My eyes have grown tired from the countless love poems they achingly bear witness to. And they've grown bored from the absence of your confessions.