dilcetto

‘I don’t know,’ they whisper.

because love, to me, is mutual.

but i had the deepest sympathies and affections for you,

even when i knew you didn’t deserve them.

there was anger in me, too—

anger that if there was something there,

you never thought it was worth fighting for.

you never tried, never let the spark

become a torch that could have guided us through this world.

and yet, i can’t even cut you off.

it would hurt—at least for me.

but i have no shame in expressing my feelings.

this isn’t to blame you, nor to confuse you.

i do love you, in the way a friend loves another friend—

wishing them the best, even from afar.

and i do appreciate that, in the end,

you saw what i always knew:

When he craves adventure, while she seeks it between the pages of a book.

When he follows logic, while her heart leads the way.

When he thrives in crowds, while she finds peace in solitude.

When he speaks in facts, while she dreams in poetry.

When he sees only clear lines, while she spills color outside the edges.

When he moves fast, chasing the next thrill, while she lingers in the beauty of the moment.

When he trusts what he can see, while she believes in what she feels.

When he loves with caution, calculating every step,

while she loves like a wildfire, reckless and consuming.

And yet—

When he reaches for her hand, she takes it.

When he listens, she softens.

When he pulls her into his world, she lets him in.

When their differences collide, they don’t break

Instead, they bend, they learn, they grow.

Because love is not about sameness,

i’ve known what it’s like to be obsessive over someone, to be in unrequited love, to love someone knowing there’s no future. and yet, through all of it, i’ve stayed true to myself. i haven’t stopped feeling, caring, or wanting something real.

gently brushing it with his thumb,

then kissing it,

admiration shining in his eyes.

A man who never lets me fall asleep upset,

who stays awake until everything is spoken calmly,

then holds me close through the night,

letting me drift off to the sound of his soft snore.

A man who never lets me carry what’s heavy,

not because he thinks I’m weak,

but because he wants to help me,

to serve me, to care for me.

A man who pays for me and never holds it against me,

knowing his role is to protect and provide for me—

his woman.

A man who opens doors for me,

hugs me tightly as if he’ll never let go,

and listens to my thoughts without interrupting,

even when I speak nonsense.

A man who tells me I’m beautiful,

not because I beg for compliments,

but because he sees it in me every day.

A man who plans our dates, our trips—

our life—so I can follow him mindlessly

to the ends of the earth,

trusting him completely.

A man who is mine,

a man who is loyal,

a man whose mind feels like home—

a home I’ll never leave.

one word. one word from you and i will be devoted to you. body and soul, you will completely own me. my heart will refuse anyone who isn’t you. it only takes one word to make me yours.

I keep asking myself in my mind

as I observe my friends ice skating under the night sky.

Who would have thought that this person

would find his little place in the corner of my mind?

Building a cozy nest, not to leave too soon—

a reappearing memory that follows me around.

Who would have thought

he would awaken a longing I haven’t felt in so long,

destroying the wall around my heart?

I don’t say he has my heart,

but he slightly brushed it—

with the same gentle hand

that once held my chin to his eyes,

then my cheek, then my lips.

Who would have thought

I loved being in his arms so much,

I would fall asleep with them over me in my mind?

Who would have thought his perfume stayed in my memory,

and I recognize it whenever someone wearing the same brand passes by?

Who would have thought?

What was it that made him glued into my brain?

Was it his eyes? His smile? Or his humour that made me laugh?

The way he makes coffee, maybe,

or the fact that my glass will never be empty under his watch—perhaps?

Or was it just lust?

The hunger I didn’t get to fulfil,

held back by my own lack of experience and will?

Do I feel this way because I didn’t get to do him,

or because… he made me feel safe?

Wrapped me in his arms, whispering “It’s okay,”—

the comfort I could not experience from a stranger,

or even worse, a man.

Sleeping skin to skin, brushing my lips over his,

this thought appears:

how much I don’t want to leave.

I could be in this state forever,

hiding from the world,

as long as I am with him.

Who would have thought?

And now the “what ifs” haunt me around.

I can’t get them out of my mind—or maybe I just don’t want to,

because it’s hard to let go.

Hard to let go of the future,

of the man who is capable of giving me exactly what I want.

not for the rush, not for the spark,

but because I know you’ll make me happy.

That’s why I’m drawn to you,

why I let the idea of you

settle in the quiet corners of my mind.

I’m addicted to possibility.

It’s why I stalk your page,

tracing fragments of your life

like they might hold the answers

to questions I haven’t asked yet.

It’s why I dream of you,

why I construct little moments

where your world touches mine,

why I keep trying—hesitant, relentless—

I don’t love you, but I care about your feelings.

I don’t love you, but whenever you feel sad, I can’t help but worry.

I don’t love you, but when I see you cry, my heart aches.

I don’t love you, but I feel like I’m flying whenever you smile.

I don’t love you, but I reach for your hand when I need comfort.

I don’t love you, but I hide my grin when our fingers intertwine.

I don’t love you, but I love the way you hold me so tightly when you hug me.

I don’t love you, but my ears are yours, my eyes fixed on you whenever you need me.

I don’t love you, but sometimes I catch myself looking at you in ways a friend shouldn’t.

And maybe I don’t love you—

to think that maybe, one day, there will be someone

who genuinely wants to know my favourite colour and why,

who remembers every little thing I’ve mentioned in passing,

who notices the smallest details about me.

Someone who wants to understand my moods,

my joys, my sorrows,

who learns how to hold me at my lowest

and celebrates with me in my brightest moments.

But maybe I’m just too much, or not enough—