By Nysa Chaturvedi
My words lashed out on a blood-stained page.
I screamed and yelled as I stood, blinded by frustration.
My heart—heavy,
consumed by self-predation.
“I’m sorry,” I said, tears in my eyes.
But the damage was done, and it came as no surprise.
I hated the words that parted my lips—
a hurricane, a cruel tempest, a masterpiece of possession.
Regret gnawed at me—not new—
a relentless craving to gain.
I couldn’t swallow the guilt, couldn’t break the chain.
Shouted and ignored, blinded by my own pain,
yet you chose the path of utter silence,
and all my love seemed to go in vain.
You used to stand by me—untouchable,
a ray of hope in a world gone wrong.
Your eyes were gentle, your touch so kind,
but your smile never quite reached your eyes.
Yet I remained blind, and you—
a prisoner of my mind.
But now I see it with clarity:
the depth of your love, the emotions on your face.
And though my words were never once full of hate,
I now say, “I love you so,” before it’s too late.
I love you, with all of my heart.
I can’t help but wonder if I’ll make yours start.
I can’t help but wonder if we were meant to be—
maybe I was the right person at the wrong time.
Forgive me, ma chérie, as my words stain the page—
blood dripping, heart gripping,
maybe we were never meant to be.
But you—
you were supposed to be mine.
So how could you let yourself
be stolen away by time?