STORIES ABOUT THE FANTASIES WE HAVE

For I'm the painter, never the painting

I watched your steps, halt before her,
A sharp pain flickered, through my heart,
The smiles exchanged, hands held,
Was all that my heart ever yearned for.

Every evening,  I found myself standing on that familiar street corner, waiting. And every evening, like a bittersweet symphony, my heart would skip a beat as I watched him approach, his smile dancing on the evening breeze.

But tonight was different. Tonight, as I watched his steps halt before her, a sharp pain flickered through my heart. For in that moment, I realised with a sinking certainty that the smiles they exchanged and the warmth of their clasped hands would always be enough to make my heart cry.

He was everything I had ever yearned for—kind, compassionate, and utterly captivating. From the moment I first laid eyes on him, I knew that he was the one who could mend the broken pieces of my soul and breathe life back into my weary heart.

But fate, it seemed, had other plans. For he belonged to another—a woman whose presence cast a shadow over our fleeting moments of connection. And try as I might to ignore the ache of longing that gnawed at my insides, I could not escape the bitter reality of our situation.

I watched as they walked hand in hand, their laughter mingling with the gentle hum of the city around us. And with each step they took, my heart shattered a little more, until it felt as though there was nothing left but the hollow echo of my own despair.

I knew I should walk away, sever ties and spare myself the agony of watching her love another. But the gravity of his presence held me captive, chaining me to this unyielding cycle of hope and heartache.

And so, I continued to stand in the shadows, a silent spectator to the love story unfolding before me—a love story in which I was nothing more than a forgotten character, relegated to the sidelines as they danced in the spotlight of each other's affection.

And so, I would continue to stand on that street corner, night after night, yearning for a love that could never be mine. For in his presence, however fleeting, I found a glimmer of solace—a reminder that even in the darkest of nights, there is still beauty to be found in the depths of unrequited love.

You talked, gossiped, cried and laughed with me,
I wish you could make some memories with me,
For I've kept every word of yours in my heart,
I crave for the same in your heart.

We shared more than just conversations; we shared moments woven from the threads of laughter and tears, gossip and confessions. Each word exchanged between us was a brushstroke on the canvas of our friendship, painting a picture of companionship that I cherished with every element of my being.

But as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, a longing began to stir within me—a longing for something more, something beyond the nature of our shared words. For while I treasured every syllable that passed between us, I yearned to create memories that would be etched into the very fabric of our beings.

I watched as you laughed at my jokes, wiping away tears of mirth with the back of your hand. I listened as you poured out your heart to me, sharing your hopes and dreams, fears and insecurities. And with each passing moment, I felt the tendrils of affection wrap themselves tighter around my heart, binding me to you in a way I could no longer ignore.

But despite the depth of our connection, there was always an unspoken barrier between us—a barrier that kept us from crossing the relationship of friendship into something more. And try as I might to ignore the yearning in my soul, I could not escape the ache of unfulfilled desires.

I wished for nothing more than to make memories with you, to create moments that would be written on the pages of our shared history. Yet, for all our laughter and tears, our conversations, it seemed as though we were destined to remain trapped in the confines of our bond.