We all long to receive love.
But what have we done for love?
The unspoken often permeates through the leftover space.
Let it be hope, for not all the light were taken away.
It’s engraved on my mind.
Burned into my skin.
A proof of its existence.
Regardless of how hard I’ve resisted,
I’m haunted by the not-a-regret and I-tried-my-best.