iqraishaque
These poems were written for a real boy. Not a villain. Not a lesson.
Someone I loved deeply-and still do.
This book is divided into two parts. One is the warmth: feeling chosen, safe, loved in ways that felt unreal.
The other is the quiet confusion: misunderstandings, distance, the nights where doubt crept in-about him, about myself, about us.
None of this comes from hate.
It comes from loving someone enough to feel everything loudly. The fear. The hope. The overthinking. The healing.
This is not about losing him. It's about learning how love can feel both steady and fragile at the same time.
Read it knowing this:
Every poem was written with love still in my hands.