There are some things that bother me every night after 2 AM, after I listen to music with lyrics that do nothing except reminding me that you’ll never be mine.

It bothers me that I’ll never love someone this way ever again. Love changes everyday, and it bothers me that you’ll never be my constant. Someday, I might love someone else a little more than I love you, but I really don’t want to. I don’t want to fall in love with a brighter smile or a less scarred hands. Why would I when I can read your stories on your wrists in beautiful ink? Why would I when I can feel this strongly for someone so beautiful?

It bothers me that my wish of you being my first kiss will remain a wish. The world is not a wish granting factory after all.

It bothers me that I’ll never be someone you text when your hands fumble and your lips tremble and your sight blurs. It bothers me that I’ll never enter your mind when you want someone to talk to. I know I don’t deserve it, but when has that ever stopped anyone? When has worth ever weighed more than love?

It bothers me that every time you ask me something, I don’t know what to say.
When you wonder if you’re my muse, should I say that I write about you all the time, should I tell you that you’re my broken promises, 11:11s, the reason I believe in love, and my muse or just say that I write about you sometimes?

It bothers me that my always will never be your someday.

Previous post : Broken.
Related post : Diamonds.

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Published by

Utsav Raj

Poets, madness and lies.

10 thoughts on “11:11s.”

  1. You are a good, but I think you are falling short because you are writing too much to impress girls, and not exactly the truth. I mean, it would be better for you to write honestly to impress a girl if that’s what you intend; but you are pretending to write your true feelings, when in reality you are half-writing to impress girls: making your writing partly dishonest.

    by Alberto Caeiro:

    Love is companionship.
    I don’t know how to walk alone on the roads anymore
    Because I can’t walk alone anymore.
    A visible thought makes me walk faster
    And see less and at the same time really enjoy seeing everything.
    Even her absence is a thing that’s with me.
    And I love her so much I don’t know how to want her.
    If I don’t see her, I pretend I do and I’m as strong as trees are tall.
    But if I see her I tremble, I don’t know what happens to what I feel when she’s not there.
    All I am is some strength abandoning me.
    All reality looks at me like a sunflower with her face in the middle of it.


      1. I don’t think you are writing to “impress the girls”. I think you are writing to express your feelings. But I think some of your feelings are (probably unconsciously) made up because you think they are beautiful feelings, or feelings that women would find beautiful.

        “Superior poets say what they really feel. Mediocre poets say what they decide to feel. Inferior poets say what they think they should feel.”

        I think you could be a good poet.


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