My Love


My love is strange
My love is strong
My love didn’t give up
My love was not reciprocated

It wasn’t a choice for me.
It wasn’t a compulsion for you.
I did not do it,
it thrived and blossomed
like the multiple folds of the petals
of a rose.
It was natural.
But you also did not intended,
to not do it.
Your heart reclused,
like a touch-me-not flower.
Your denial was sadly, but natural too.
And so if I was a cheerful rose,
you were the touch-me-not.
How could love ever have happened?

Few knew about us,
about our love.
My diary, who soaked every inch
of heartfelt ink in it.
My pillow, who shook away my fantasies.

But my love is there.
It is strange.
It is strong.

It doesn’t ask for anything.
It’s selfless.
It’s patient,
because it’s waiting for something
which it knows, will never come to it.
It’s magical,
because it’s not there and it still gives me jitters.

It’s strange.
It’s strong.
it’s mine.

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