Wistful

Like the canvas in my eyes,
our love is ours to paint.
Every artist has his or her own way with art,
so let no one tell us what fits our imaginations.

TRUE.
I still love you,
with every day break my wish has been to be there for us.
How deeply I regret walking out on us,
with my bleeding heart I wish us back.

DREAM.
I was never a dreamer,
but of late my head has become a play ground for imaginations of what could have been.
Stack of books,
poems I wrote to say how sorry I am,
yet I found no courage to let you read.

TEARS.
I do not cry,
tears find its way to my lip
to remind me how bitter my life is without you in it.
I loose, with every tear drop falling down,
a memory lane of how far we had climbed.

I want you all for myself,
want you back,
without my pride,
I'm not sure how to break it to you,
I'm dying inside without your smile.