Fiction That Burns

I saw you from afar once again, and my chest began to ache,

Years passed without asking permission, and this desire won’t break.

Your name whispers inside me, like a wind that won’t leave,

I invent every one of your smiles, turn you into my story.

You were never mine, yet I swear it felt so real,

In my small, distorted world, you were the only thing that felt real.

I loved you without touch, without kiss, without reason,

I wore you on my skin like a scar that never fades.

Even if time steals what’s left of my mind,

I return to this love that exists only inside us

I wanted you, even without you knowing who I am,

I’m a prisoner of a dream that never began.

I recreate your details, comb your hair inside my thoughts,

Your scent is a fever, repeating the same torment.

I get lost in the fantasy of something that never happened,

I hold you in the emptiness, but the cold never forgot me.

You were never mine, and still you haunt me all day long,

A sickness that doesn’t kill, but bleeds inside—real and strong.

I loved you without touch, without kiss, without reason,

I wore you on my skin like a scar that never fades.

Even if time steals what’s left of my mind,

I return to this love that exists only inside us.

I wanted you, even without you knowing who I am,

I’m a prisoner of a dream that never began.

If one day I touch you, maybe everything will fall apart,

Maybe I’ll learn this love was hunger, not heart.

Desperate desire, no future, no return,

I’m a poet condemned to love the stories I create—and burn.

I loved you without touch, without kiss, without reason,

I wore you on my skin like a scar that never fades.

Even if time destroys what remains of my heart,

I crawl back to this lie, call it love, call it art.

I wanted you, even without you knowing who I am,

I was a prisoner of a dream…

Of a love that never began.