To the lover, because of whom, I have nearly perfected the art of waiting,
Each knock on the door makes my heart skip a beat thinking of you standing outside ready to embrace me.
I answer each phone call with abated breath, hoping to hear your voice at the other end. I open each text with trembling hands, wishing it was from you. Every night, sleeping with the hope of waking up next to you the other morning.
But the wait seemed endless for the bell that never rang, for the text that never came , and I realized maybe I was never deserving of your love.
Maybe you were way too good for me. Maybe you have found somebody in whom you find solace now. Maybe my mistakes overpowered my love or maybe we were destined to meet this end.
Knowing well that I have already lost you, the hope continues to persist..
I once read somewhere that grief has its stages and the first of them is denial. Probably I am still stuck in that first stage, probably I will never be able to come out of it, will never be able to gather the courage to address you as my ex and always keep on waiting for you to come back to give me that second chance which you thought I never deserved..
Hoping against hope is what I choose to do because, dear lover, it is not easy to let go of somebody as precious as you.