Unsent Letters

I know what you think when you imagine love-

One phrase with three words, 

Gifted chocolates and red hearts, 

Sweet nothings and small talks, 

In the sunset, a fever dream, 

But have you ever heard a lover's scream?

He walks alone on his deranged path, 

Because he fell down, so hard.

He was pushed, it was never his choice.

He can't say, for he has a silent voice.

He wants to scream, he wants to shout,

To tell his beloved, out loud,

How much he craves,

To offer the love, he never gave.

But all he can do is stab at his heart,

So that it would stop and never start

For it beats only for them, 

In a land of stones, a precious gem.

He plasters a tortured smile on his saddened visage, 

As he watches his fever dream walk away.

And fall for a man that is not him,

But his love for them, yet not dimmed.

Maybe his efforts weren't enough,

The other man probably did better.

Maybe, he failed to love enough.

Maybe it's just a man's luck.

Hate is a choice, love is not 

Only if love could be bought, 

It would be so much easier, 

But it can never happen for real.

Or if he could choose to hate, 

He would do so in a haste. 

But both of them can't co-exist. 

He fell first and they never did.

He finishes writing his last letter 

And tosses it alongside the many others, 

As the flames of his love, lick the words.

If only he had sent them those letters.

                               — Wundervei☆