Unfinished letter by Sandhya#Poetry.

When love feels like an Unfinished Letter — A Poem about the man who made me want to stay. On the terrifying, tender threshold between Stockholm syndrome and fate — and the question I keep circling back to.

I was caught off guard,
when I thought I did not need another one,
another mundane-to-heartbreaking story,
I met a man — not just any man, but a gentleman.

A man masculine enough
to keep me on my toes,
yet feminine enough
to let my inner child find her home.

I am not sure
if this is just another story,
or if we stand at the threshold
of something meant to stay.
Or perhaps,
I am merely catching Stockholm syndrome,
mistaking comfort for fate
along the way.

But as I move forward,
I truly hope
that even if life is not a mighty road,
I will still walk beside him
through every uneven slope.

I thought I was only curious,
yet now I want to live in his veins,
lighting him softly from within,
keeping pace with all his hidden pains.

And somewhere along the way,
as I found my home,
I found a man
with whom I could remain.

As he opens himself, it feels
like an unfinished letter,
as the light fades, papers rustling through,
words ruthlessly put up beyond the age,
keeping it all together as a mere caricature
stitching the letters with hope and agony
as if each moment survived through quiet strategy.

As I lean in and move closer,
the words are rusted and
the dust has found its home
Yet somewhere in between 
the ink is still drying
as if someone had left it open
for far too long,
resting quietly beside
a beautiful, empty envelope.

And I do not know
whether I should hold the pen,
rewrite through the ink,
change the verses,
rearrange the letters,
finish what someone else started,
or simply let his silence
say the things words never could.

But what would he want?

A question
my mind endlessly circles back to,
like waves returning
to a shore they once knew.

And as I hold the pen,
ready to write, ready to hold him in my verses,
ready to pour loving and careful words,
each one particularly chosen for him,
my emotions rush through me,
finally finding their place,
swimming gently, endlessly,
towards him.

~ Sandhya Arya.

If you enjoyed this poem, you might love Perhaps, it was love — a collection of verses on longing, love, and the spaces in between.

Buy my book: Perhaps, it was love (https://sandhyaarya.gumroad.com/l/lbxqp)
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