An incomplete love story

She was so naive,

she loved me deeply.

Yet, she hid it from me,

and when she came before me,

she couldn’t say a word.

She would bite her finger nervously,

adjusting her hair with a shy smile.

Then she’d secretly glance at me,

only to look away when our eyes met.

She acted like a dreamer,

doing strange and silly things.

Sometimes, she’d smile to herself,

and at other times, she’d grow sad.

If I didn’t agree with her “yes,”

she’d pout in frustration.

Expressing her love through anger,

she’d drift into her thoughts,

then suddenly ask about mine.

Her sweet smiles were weapons,

wounding me gently.

Yet, she was amazing

she’d heal the wounds she caused.

The scars were mine, but the pain,

oh, it seemed to be hers.

She loved me so much,

she called me her “life.”

But the fear of losing her, it came true.

Before we could confess, it all fell apart.

A storm came, tearing us apart,

Now someone else calls her, and she calls someone else, “Jaan.”