Out of focus

Unrequited love

I asked you to take a photo—
blurry, it came out,
only to realize that the lens was out of focus,
like my eyes when they weren’t on you—
drifting into daydreams that would never come true.
Like roses and their thorns:
gorgeous from a distance, yet grazed when carelessly touched.
So I gaze from afar, thinking of what is, what was and never be.

Dark brown eyes that whisper locked mysteries,
capturing mine in brief moments.
I'd save these images locking them in a private mental folder.
I often wondered what made them so alluring—
what shaped you into the man I see,
and how I got caught in the Bermuda Triangle,
except it’s just recurring thoughts of you and me.

Suddenly, years have gone by.
Time has faded into ashes.
A heart—whole and flourishing as it seemed—
burned in her pursuit of passion.
Her question constantly haunts me:
"Why do you choose to stay?"
Till my eyes go dry,
I need to blink—
but only tears fall instead.

I asked you to take a photo
so that I could keep you in the picture of my youth—
but it turns out that I can't.
I watched you fumble with the camera,
refusing to learn something new,
and came to realize
you would never look at me the way I looked at you.

So I don't bother to explain.
Perhaps it’s better that you couldn’t take the shot,
so that I’d finally snap out of my delusion—
the belief in something that you are not.
Wasted space on you until there was space no more,
Its capacity restricted by regret.
So I will delete the images I have saved,
till it’s you I can finally forget.