The only proof of our unreciprocated love is

the notebooks filled with poems I wrote

as I tried to shake you from my mind.

In the meanwhile, I grew a passion

or a thirst,

for writing poems.

Thanks to you.

And how you looked at me,

someway nobody else had before.

And maybe you didn't like me back,

maybe you'll never see the hundreds pieces of prose or the poems,

that I wrote and hid under my bed,

or the tens I posted here,

but I hope you would know,

how much you left your touch on my world.

In a way no boy - real or make-believe - had.

You are you.

I hope wherever the winds of life will blow you,

it'll be well.

You'll find another girl you'll paint golden

and make her your wife.

I hope someday I'll find a good guy

who will start another fire

with the way he looked me in the eyes.