To a boy who's left behind.

I used to spend days typing you short messages.

I used to engrave your name in diary entries.

I used to call you, sometimes without reasons at all.

Even looking at your back when you walked along school`s corridors.

I was acting stupid, I knew that.

I simply couldn`t help myself to stop.

 I also did nothing but staring, admiring, watching, silently.

My throat was always dry when it came to you.

My voice will never reach you, I see.

 That`s why I left.

It would be too painful to see you go after piles of dreams,

 and me was forgotten behind.

So I decided to leave you first, in order to not crumble in pieces.

Although the days without seeing your back were so hard,

I am okay.

.

.

.

.

.

Or not...?  

z. d. imama