You can count the stars in my constellation, but you can never tell if they are just pieces, because all you think is I’m in one-piece.
You can show me the line, but you can never tell where exactly I’m standing, because all you see is me moving.
You can send me letters, but you can never ask the right question and comfort the right corner, because all you know is you’re supposed to send them.
You can prove your commitment, but you can never convince my heart when it’s no more surrounded, because all your proofs are in the pages of somebody else’s book.
I tried not to put a label on the missing connection in-between. I tried to respect differences. I tried to avoid judgments.
And you tried to make sure I give up.
I’m yet to see the light.