Something Bout Her: Poems of Love

46. Late Hours

There's something bout her, the way she cares,
Even in the smallest things, her concern she shares.
In late-night talks and whispered truths untold,
Her heart speaks softly, but it's worth more than gold.

"Are you sleepy yet?" she asked with care,
"No, don't tell me you are," I replied, a bit aware.
"I'm a little tired," she said with a yawn,
"Here I am awake for you, while you're already gone."

"Does your mom know you're still up?" came her concern,
"Yeah, she knows," I said, feeling the burn.
"And did she not scold you?" she pressed again,
"I told dad, I'd be up late, so it's all the same."

"She won't mind, I've an assignment due,"
But she sighed, "You know it's not healthy for you."
I laughed, "Normally, mom makes me sleep on time,
I miss your texts at night, it's no crime."

"You don't sleep on your own?" she asked, soft and slow,
"Mhmm," I nodded, the truth in tow.
"You should sleep on time," concern in her tone,
"I wake sometimes to see if your message has shown."

"Yk Even with someone else," she began to confide,
"Though it's a long-distance friendship, I can't hide.
If I love someone, I want them near,
Not just on a screen, or on my ear."

"Do you miss him?" I asked, quiet and low,
"It's normal, Aditi misses her boyfriend too, you know."
But she ignored, carried on, still feeling the strain,
"I told you in 2022, I can't handle the pain."

"I knew I'd grow feelings, it's harder this way,
I can't meet or see you, not even one day.
Loving someone from afar tears you apart,
That missing feeling, it weighs on the heart."

I nodded, "A bitter truth, it seems,
Why doesn't it hurt me, even in dreams?"
"You didn't miss me?" she asked, sadness in her voice,
"Maybe I was too busy, writing about you by choice."

She replied, "Maybe our love languages didn't align,
I need someone here, not just in my mind."
"You never felt that pain, deep in your chest,
When they're far, but you want them near, to rest?"

I sighed, "I did feel that, after we broke,
Physical pain, no words I spoke."
"I need someone to hold when I feel down,
Not waiting days for their arms around."

"And yet," I said, "you never replied,
To the poems I wrote, all those nights I tried."
"They were good," she said, a smile in her tone,
"Your art was beautiful, I should have shown."

"Every night, when I couldn't convince you to stay,
That pain crushed me, in every way.
But there's one thing I'm proud to say,
I never touched drinks or smokes to chase the grey."

"Good for you," she said, with light in her eyes,
"And the other girls?" she asked, a playful surprise.
"Other girls? I don't even know their names,
It's been four semesters, all the same."

"They never tint like a priority to me,
Their boyfriends always fighting for em, so I stayed free."
"Poor boyfriends," she laughed, soft and light,
"Why didn't you tell me, those poems felt right?"

"Maybe," she said, "I wasn't ready then,
The healing hadn't started, my heart was in pain."
Then we caught up on life, as time slowly passed,
Until her eyes grew heavy, and sleep came at last.