Love is complex like a code that is forever left undeciphered. Many have tried to decode its meaning, but they barely succeed. Some even thought they already knew the answers, but endings made them understand that these answers were never in their hands.
I was a devotee of unrequited love. Letters and sweets, secretive tweets - all I've known are to give love but never to receive. I even solemnly prayed and pledged loyalty to every saint and statuette, but all that there is are unsolicited apologies. I was a devotee of one-sided romance, and it was painful, but I was like a kid riding a carousel. I can't let go of this satisfying feeling of liking someone and chasing pavements but on my tracks were scattered engagements that were never fulfilled.
And love to me was like a diary of blank pages. A book of unfinished chapters, a sequence of unsequenced numbers. And it's crazy how I'm so lost in this madness.
And this is how I survive. Loving without being loved. Running away when I am being loved. Pushing people when they begin to fall in love with me. I told you; I was a devotee of unrequited love.
YOU ARE READING
The Brain is Never at Rest
PoetryHi. This is a collection of the pieces I wrote for the past years. If some of these sounded or looked familiar, it's because I've posted them in another account I used to go by. Thank you for taking the time to read my work! I hope you'll have a fu...
