love poems
Love poems for hopeless romantics; I'm the poet and you're my muse.
"Sightless Stars and Scarlet Ink: The Unseen Love of Ada and Layth"
Letter I – From Ada Manssouri to Layth Soufi Casablanca, 14 August 1942 My Dearest Layth, This evening, with the call to prayer still reverberating in my ears, I draw my fingers along those engravings on the parchment which read out your name. Although my left eye is shrouded in darkness, to me, you look elaborately exotic—the twitch of your smile, the inflection in your voice when you mention the stars. Remember that night we took a walk on the roof? You told me the constellations while flexing your grip around my palm. From the stories you narrated, it seemed like they were woven together with magic. You mentioned that Orion’s belt was a bridge between souls, and I swear the universe shifted to make us feel closer to each other.
By LUCCIAN LAYTH2 years ago in Poets
A love I created
Wrapped in delusions, An idea of you, i idolize. Surrounded in whispers of truths, I choose to ignore it. I turn away from the stares of reality, Choosing to bask in sweet dreams and fantasies. Making excuses for the real you, Crafting a version of you that fits my desires. Magnifying the illusion, Layer upon layer of lies, I willingly deceive myself. I see clearly what it is, but I refuse to accept it. He loves me, I tell myself, But deep down, I know the truth, He loves that I love him and nothing more. He cares for me, I whisper, Yet reality stings harshly. He reciprocates, only the barest minimum, Just enough to keep me holding on. He gives me attention, I insist, But he thrives on the attention I give him. His attention, fleeting and unstable, A shooting star is slower. He's a giver, he's for me, I convinced myself. But the truth pierces through the falseness, He's a taker, he's not for me. As my cruel reality beckons, I find myself at a crossroads. To keep believing the lies, The dreams I made. Or to escape these chains, The illusions I created. And still I cling to the mirage, Feeding a fire that burns only me, He's my delusion, an idolised idea.
By Peace Oputa2 years ago in Poets
