I knew sitting alone at the corner of my room at midnight in dim lights would do me no good. Nor would thinking about you would. But it would give me enough reasons to write about the pain. The pain given by you.
We may not be a thing anymore. But I will assure that your memories stay in my poetry.
My mom kept asking me what happened to me the other day. I did not have the guts to mention your name.
I wonder if you stay awake at midnight too. Remembering me. Regretting me.
You used to be my only one. I used to be only one of them. I still remember.
Missing you, I feel was like my duty. But wanting you was my passion.
I wonder what made me like you in the first place. Just like what made you leave me in the last.
There was a time I used to write for you. Now I kinda write about you.